


Of Angels and Demons

by Anonymous



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Beauty Worship, Biting, Clothes Porn, Glitter, M/M, Multi, Oral Fixation, Slow Build, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Wilde References - gotta catch 'em all!, Yuleporn, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Arthur Stuart leaves his homophobic family behind and doesn't look back, but what will his new life in London be like? On a stroke of sheer luck he is invited into the glamorous lives of Brian Slade and Curt Wild, who initiate him into London's high society and its shame-free world of love between men.





	1. Of Angels and Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithrigil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/gifts).



> A/N: Hello, Mithrigil!  
> I was so excited to be assigned your letter to work from; I had already bookmarked it for a treat before assignments went out. I hope you enjoy this story! I had so much fun writing it, and this fandom has a very special place in my heart - it was almost like a religion to me when I was younger. I can't even count how many times I've watched this movie. Here's wishing you a glitterifically fabulous Yuletide!  
> -Your Secret Author
> 
> Dedicated to David Bowie, wherever he may be. Thank you for the stardust. We miss you.  
>  _Your death could not kill our love for you / Your memory stays / It lingers ever / Fade away never_

Arthur set off down the street, feet confident in their well-worn platform shoes, gypsy scarf jingling against his back as the silver coins sewn onto the edges jostled together. He couldn't help thinking to himself as he walked,

> _Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross_  
>  _To see a fine lady upon a white horse_  
>  _With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes_  
>  _She shall have music wherever she goes_

If the rumours were right, he'd be meeting the 'fine lady' outside her hotel very shortly. The thought put speed into him and he broke into a jog, hoping the latches of his suitcase would hold. He'd come all this way for this very moment; he could feel destiny hurtling towards him as his feet hit the pavement, and he went as fast as he dared in his precipitous footwear, the shocked and hostile glares of passersby slipping past him unnoticed for once. As long as he didn't run into any skinheads, he'd be fine.

He rounded a corner and the hotel came into view. Nothing going on at the front entrance that he could see, so the limousine would probably arrive at a less obvious spot round the back of the building somewhere. Arthur slowed his pace, not wanting to attract the attention of the hotel staff, who could certainly throw him off the property if they took a dislike to him. 

The place was posh as fuck, he thought, as he watched a finely dressed elderly dowager with a miniature mountain of baggage being swarmed by obsequious uniformed staff members. He indulged for a moment in a fantasy about being in the woman's place, sleeping on a down-stuffed mattress and eating as much rich food as he liked at the hotel restaurant (god, he was hungry!), before returning his focus to his quest, which was so near its finale. 

He'd gladly sleep rough for another month if that's what it took to meet Brian Slade. He was tight on money at this point, and subsisting largely on chips and sausages, but he was sure he would find work somewhere in London, perhaps at a record shop. Maybe he'd even find a bedsit to share with another Slade fan? He hardly dared imagine such a stroke of luck.

Making his way around the side of the hotel, Arthur's heart leapt when he spotted a girl near his own age in platform shoes and a sequinned top, leaning casually on the far corner of the building and chatting with someone unseen around the back. This _had_ to be the right hotel! He hurried on to the rear of the building and was met with a sight that he was sure would never lose its magic for him: gathered loosely around the rear entryway was a flock of brightly coloured young people, girls and boys alike decked out in sparkles, spangles, scarves, and stripey socks. His tribe. His family. 

Lord knew he needed one after his parents' reaction to discovering who their youngest son really was, and the fallout that attended that disaster. His own brother had refused to acknowledge his existence the next time they'd seen each other, and Arthur wasn't surprised his father had "warned" Nigel about him. The whole extended clan would soon be informed that the youngest Stuart was a sinning homosexual. They'd all be praying for his heathen soul every Sunday, just like they did for Aunt Tabitha who'd been living in sin with her "fancy man" for 27 years now, unmarried. But he had to put that all out of his mind. He had more important things to worry about right now. Much more important things!

Arthur took a deep breath to steady his nerves, banished all self-pity from his mind, and plunged into the slightly intimidating crowd of London fans to hopefully stake out a good spot to wait for the arrival of his idol. He went to take a look through the cast-iron gates that protected the hotel's rear entrances from rabble such as himself, and confirmed with a quick glance that this was the only way in from the back. So Brian would definitely have to pass through here if he elected to avoid the front door. Arthur very casually stationed himself by the gate's hinges, looking furtively about to make sure he wasn't encroaching on anyone's already-claimed turf, but his fellow fans were happy and distracted by their own conversations and thoughts, and not overly concerned with queuing. 

Arthur relaxed, leaning with relief on the wall (these shoes did tire a person's legs, he had to admit), and his mind wandered back to the past few weeks, to his life on the road, and the unexpected kindness he'd found there. He'd got into a few close scrapes, but things always tipped in his favour at last possible moment, due to someone's benevolence.

He recalled an incident wherein an elderly woman had caught him shoplifting some rolls from a supermarket, but instead of turning him in, she had taken him down the road for a hamburger and scolded him the entire time he was eating.

Even his reminiscences were drifting towards food now. He'd have to find something to eat as soon as he could, though he didn't dare step away from the gate for the time being.

"What's _your_ favourite album?" It took Arthur a moment to notice he was being addressed, and he turned his head with surprise to see a girl of about 17 with long brown hair and massive platforms smiling up at him. She was wearing a purple t-shirt she'd made herself, with "Brian Slade" painted on in yellow glitter.

"Uhhm," Arthur hesitated, put on the spot, "I'd have to say _The Ballad of Maxwell Demon_ is my favourite. I love _Zounds_ , too, though. That'd be a close second."

"Really?" she said, looking delighted, "Seems like no one likes _Zounds_ anymore, now that Maxwell's so popular, but it's still my favourite."

"Yeah, I think it's a brilliant album! Really creative."

"What's your name? I'm Christine." She held out a hand for him to shake.

"I'm Arthur." He took her hand.

A loud female voice burst in on them from over Christine's shoulder. "All right, who have you got your hooks into now?"

A girl with a short black bob and boyish shirt and trousers (in matching shades of purple and yellow to Christine's top) popped into view, peering appraisingly at Arthur. She extended a hand, still surveying him. He took it as she said, "I'm Sandra."

"Arthur," he replied, and then working up his nerve asked, "Are you Christine's, er... girlfriend?"

The two glanced awkwardly at each other for a second, then both began stammering out answers at once.

"Oh, uh, no--"

"Not that we're insulted--"

"--aren't girlfriends."

"We're _best_ friends."

Arthur reddened with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't--"

"No, it's all right! We get that sometimes."

After a bit of awkward silence, in which all three of them were desperately unsure what to say, Sandra had a moment of inspiration, and they spent the next 20 minutes chatting pleasantly. Eventually the question of Arthur's accent came up. "So, I'm guessing you're not from London. Did you come down to see the show?"

"Yeah, I've been following the tour, actually. I'm from Manchester, as you probably guessed, but I think I've decided to move to London, now I'm here."

"Oh, really? So, do you have a flat worked out yet?"

"No, not yet."

Sandra glanced at Christine, who then asked, "Do you need a place to stay tonight?"

"I do, yeah, if you know of somewhere."

"You can stay at mine," Christine told him, "Sandra will be there, too, and the sofa's free. My parents won't mind."

"All right, thank you! As long it won't disturb your folks, I'd be glad to."

At that moment they were interrupted by the arrival of hotel staff to the gate, which resulted in a flurry of excitement among the congregated fans. A man with a massive ring of keys selected a large, black key to undo the padlock and two other men in uniform swung the gates wide and stood guard in front of them. The kids arranged themselves as close as they dared to the open gates, the staff requesting them to move back when they got too brash, or blocked the way.

It was a few tense minutes before a long white limousine pulled around the rear of the hotel to be greeted with cheers and whistles and shouts of "Brian!". It slowed as it reached the gate, coming to a standstill to the delight of the gathered crowd, who pressed forward towards it.

The rear window facing Arthur's side rolled down partway and revealed, to everyone's surprise, not the exotic, angular face of Brian Slade, but the platinum head and vaguely feral visage of Curt Wild. Curt raised his arm to wave at the crowd, some of whom cheered whilst the rest remained puzzled, and scanned the faces before him as he did.

Arthur's heart nearly stopped when Curt's eyes met his and paused there, but this wasn't to be the only blessing of the day: Curt then _winked_ at him.

Him. Arthur. _Why?_

The car drove on through the gates, which were swiftly shut behind it, and he stood shell-shocked for what felt like an endless period before becoming aware of the reactions of his fellow fans, several of whom were congratulating him ecstatically, while a few others were trying to find out why Curt Wild had been in the car.

A young man about his own age approached and asked in a slightly interrogating tone, "D'you know 'im?"

"No!" Arthur blurted out quickly.

"Oooh! Curt _likes_ you!" Sandra exclaimed, and she and Christine burst into giddy giggles, while Arthur flushed to his hair.

"D-d'you think so?" he asked them, incredulous.

"Well, you're not bad-looking, are you," Christine said. "Why else would he wink at you?"

"God, I'm jealous!" the other lad said vehemently, with a scowl. "But congrats." He shrugged and gave Arthur a half-smile before returning to his own group of friends to discuss recent events.

"Say, Arthur, do you want to hang around the hotel for a while?" Sandra asked him. "I've heard Brian will sometimes sign autographs for fans if they stick around long enough. Maybe Curt will come out, too!"

"What about me?" Christine demanded, with mock insult.

Sandra rolled her eyes. "I know _you're_ up for it!" Christine shoved her lightly, and they started batting at each other and hissing, in a clearly well-rehearsed fashion that made Arthur laugh. He really liked these girls already.

"Before you kill each other, yeah, I think I would like some company waiting for Brian and Curt. I was planning to, anyway."

"Brilliant!" Sandra replied, and squished Christine into a hug to stop their play battle. 

Once Christine freed herself from her friend's clutches, she started digging in her purse and soon held up a wad of bills. "What do you two say to steak and chips? I just got my birthday money from Grandma and Grandad, so it's on me."

Arthur's stomach rumbled audibly at the mere mention of food and the three of them set off, laughing, for the nearest Berni Inn.

  
  


Hunger sated and plans for the evening ironed out, Arthur and his new friends headed back as quickly as they could to the hotel to wait for their idols to make an appearance. The crowd around the back of the hotel had thinned significantly, with only the hardest of the hardcore remaining.

The three parked themselves by the gate once more, chatting together about how they'd first discovered Brian Slade, what other artists they were into, and various school-related dramas. Time passed quickly and several of the other groups of fans dispersed as it came on towards an hour of waiting. A small commotion erupted amongst those remaining when a girl caught a glimpse of someone she insisted was Brian Slade in one of the upper storey windows of the hotel. Fierce discussions broke out as to who wanted to wait and who wanted to leave, and ultimately only a few fans opted to leave after the encouraging window sighting.

Arthur was intensely glad he'd waited it out when a rear door of the hotel opened and both Brian Slade and Curt Wild emerged and started towards the breathless group at the gate. Two hotel employees followed, one bearing a ring of keys. The gate was unlocked and the hotel staff stood guard as the two pop stars waded into the eager group of fans, ready to sign autographs and pose for pictures. The pushiest fans were seen to first, and Arthur was content to wait his turn, enjoying every moment of being so close to his idols. He decided he would ask Brian and Curt to sign his new copy of the NME, since he'd been forced to leave his albums at home when he'd left, having no space for them.

He practically held his breath as Brian talked to Sandra and Christine, signing their singles and autograph books. And then very abruptly Brian Slade was looking into his eyes and asking if Arthur would like him to sign anything. Yes, please!

Arthur held the magazine up for Brian's marker and Brian asked him what album was his favourite, and Arthur nervously mumbled an answer, all the while thinking that Brian's blue hair was just as luminous in real life as it looked on television. And then, with a quick smile, Brian disappeared back through the gates. Arthur evidently had been the last one waiting. Seeing Brian returning to the hotel, most of the other fans began to disperse, having gotten what they wanted.

Arthur didn't have time to think about this, though, as he was now face-to-face with Curt Wild, who was giving him quite an intent look.

Arthur stared back stupidly for a moment before realising Curt was waiting to sign something. "Oh, right, sorry," Arthur muttered, and held up the mag, the ink of Brian's signature still drying. 

Curt smirked and found a good space for his signature, asking, "Who do I sign it to?"

"Uh, Arthur. My name's Arthur." Arthur felt incredibly awkward. He was still bowled over by the wink from earlier.

"Are you coming to the show on Sunday?" Curt asked him, scribbling on the glossy cover.

"I'd love to, but I'm out of money. I've been following the tour," Arthur admitted.

Finished signing, Curt took a step back, and paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. "You know what? Why don't you come around the front of the hotel in about ten minutes. I'll get you some tickets for the show."

Arthur was speechless. He nodded and managed to get out, "Ok."

"Are those your friends?" Curt wondered, indicating Christine and Sandra, who were hovering excitedly a few yards away from the two of them.

Arthur confirmed this and Curt replied, "Great. Ten minutes," and disappeared the way Brian had gone, the two staff members locking up behind him.

Arthur turned around and knew immediately by the looks on the girls' faces that they'd already heard what had been said between himself and Curt. They rushed over to him, and Christine grabbed his arm and demanded, incredulous, "Did he offer you tickets?"

"Yeah!" Arthur replied, "And I think he's bringing some for you two, as well."

Christine and Sandra glanced at one another and Sandra shrugged, smiling. "Well, I guess we can sell ours and use the money to buy t-shirts!"

"Oh, you already have tickets?" said Arthur.

"Yeah, we don't need any, honestly, if you'd rather give yours to someone else," Sandra told him.

"No, it's fine. Get those t-shirts. I haven't anyone else to give them to, anyway."

"We should probably get round the front, though, or he'll think we're not coming!" Christine urged the other two, and the three fairly ran round the hotel to the front entrance, where they were given stern glances by the porters.

They needn't have hurried, as it took Curt another ten minutes to appear at the door. He made his way out to them and reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out three tickets and handing them to Arthur with a smile. "Here you go," he said. 

Arthur smiled shyly back. "Thank you so much," he said, and tucked the tickets safely into his suitcase. "And please tell Brian I said thank you, as well."

"I will," Curt assured him. "See you kids later." He looked to each of them in turn and nodded a farewell.

 _God, I hope so_ , Arthur thought to himself as Curt ascended the steps to the hotel once more. 

"This day has turned out SO much better than I thought it would!" Sandra gushed, and Christine agreed earnestly. The girls asked if Arthur still wanted to stay the night with them and he said he did, so they led him off down the road to make their way to Christine's place.

"Hey, Arthur!" a voice called out from behind them. Arthur stopped in surprise and turned to look, seeing Curt beckoning him back to the hotel steps with one hand. Arthur didn't hesitate, but hurried on back.

"What is it?" Arthur asked when he reached Curt. He was incredibly curious.

"Come on back tomorrow, ok? Just you?" Curt was giving Arthur that look again, the very intent one that made Arthur's insides erupt in butterflies.

"Oh, uh, ok. Sure." He somehow managed not to sound nearly as thrilled as he was inside. "Uh, where shall I meet you?"

"In the lobby around four. Don't worry, I'll be there, you won't get kicked out."

"Sure! Four it is."

And then, suddenly, Curt was kissing him. It couldn't have lasted more than a second or two, but Arthur could feel the brief moments stretching like taffy into something much longer. It was over before he could react and he blinked in utter dumbfoundment as Curt pulled back.

"Go on, they're waiting for you," Curt said, smiling, pointing down the road in the direction of Christine and Sandra, who were visibly freaking out.

"Yeah...ok! See you tomorrow!" Arthur was incredibly thankful his feet remembered how to move by themselves, as he wasn't sure he could concentrate on much at the moment other than what had just happened between himself and one of his heroes. Already, mere seconds later, it seemed like a dream. When he reached Sandra and Christine, they hugged him and screeched at him and each other (at least that's what it sounded like to Arthur, whose head was up in the clouds).

"Well, you did it! You sure got his attention!" Sandra exclaimed, shaking Arthur by the arm.

"Did that happen?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"Yes!!" both girls chorused.

"God, I can't believe it," Arthur murmured, putting a hand to his forehead.

"What did he say to you?" Christine asked him eagerly.

"He asked me to come back here tomorrow, and he'll meet me in the lobby."

This prompted more screeching from the girls. "You'll have to tell us ALL about it," Christine insisted, but then Sandra shook her by the shoulder and pointed back towards the hotel. Arthur turned to look, as well.

"Look! He's still there!"

Curt remained outside for another minute, creating clouds of cigarette smoke, then looked their way briefly, holding up a hand in farewell (to which the girls giddily responded - Arthur was still too dazed) before dropping his cigarette on the pavement, stamping it out, and going inside.

Once the three of them had cooled down a bit from their excitement they agreed it was time to head home for the evening. Christine and Sandra led Arthur by a winding route to a Tube station, which took them to Christine's local stop, from where they walked to her parents' small, brown terraced house. Night was settling over the world in earnest and the orange glow from the windows looked wonderfully inviting to Arthur, who had spent the past week kipping in parks and on benches.

Christine let the three of them in with her key, calling out, "Mum? Dad? We're back!"

"Hello, Chrissie," her father's voice replied from the kitchen, "Your Mum is out with her sisters. She left supper for you in the oven."

"Thanks, Dad!" Christine ushered Arthur into the front room, where Sandra was already retrieving a few items from the coffee table and stuffing them in her bag. "Here it is," Christine said to Arthur, indicating the friendly old sofa that dominated the wall opposite the telly. "Make yourself at home."

Christine's father peeked round the doorway from the kitchen and entered the front room when he spotted Arthur. He was a grizzled and slightly portly fellow of a stocky build, wrapped in pyjamas and dressing gown and clutching a beer bottle. Who's that?" he said, turning his attention to prying the cap from the bottle.

"This is our new friend, Arthur. I said he could stay the night on the sofa. That's all right, isn't it?"

"All right, but on the sofa, mind. I'll tan your hide if I find him upstairs."

Arthur stepped forward and extended a hand, introducing himself. "Arthur Stuart," he said with a polite smile.

Christine's father eyed him in a searching but not unfriendly way, took his hand and shook it firmly, replying, "And I'm Mr. Richards. Welcome."

"Thank you, sir."

The girls headed for the stair, Christine tapping Arthur on the arm, saying, "Just give us a minute, we'll be right back."

Arthur seated himself on the sofa and picked up a magazine to have something to do while Mr. Richards sipped calmly at his beer. Apropos of nothing, the man said to Arthur, "You're a fairy, aren't you?"

" _What?_ " Arthur was taken aback.

"Oh, not that I mind, but you're not planning to go after my daughter, now, hmm?"

"No, sir," Arthur said, bewildered, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"There's a lad. Mind you don't and you'll be welcome here." He made for the stair himself and paused, adding over his shoulder, "There's a beer in the kitchen, help yourself." Arthur watched him go in stunned silence, glad when his new friends returned.

The girls proceeded to drag down what was surely half the contents of Christine's bedroom, including her record player, record collection, makeup kit, hand-mirror, pillows, blankets, and a pile of music magazines and newspapers, mostly featuring Brian Slade on the cover.

With Arthur's help they set up camp in the front room, moving the coffee table to create a cosy spot by the sofa. To a soundtrack of Brian Slade they did each other's makeup and read magazine articles aloud, interrupting each other to comment on and debate what they were reading, and pilfering snacks from the kitchen periodically. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. He'd never got on very well with the other boys at school, having only a few good friends over the years, and the girls had tended to either stick to themselves or attempt to kiss him (or something similarly disconcerting) so he'd not had much success there, either. This evening seemed to him to bode well for his new life in London. He'd decided pretty firmly by now he would stay; he'd look through the papers in the morning to see who was hiring. He hardly dared think about what he might be doing later tomorrow -- _with Curt!_ He still couldn't quite believe he'd met the man, much less kissed him.

"Wish I could sneak a beer," Christine sighed, pausing for a moment from reading the NME to the other two and resting her head in her hands. She was sprawled across a few cushions on the floor by the record player. Sandra murmured her agreement.

Arthur glanced Christine's way as Sandra applied blusher to his cheekbones and said, "Your dad offered me one. We could share it."

"Ah! Brilliant!" Sandra exclaimed, immediately dropping the makeup brush and dashing into the kitchen. Moments later she was back with a bottle, which she soon had the top off of. The three of them passed it between them, taking careful sips to avoid smearing their lipstick, which didn't work out terribly well.

The bottle was quickly finished and Sandra resumed work on Arthur's makeup while Christine opened a new article to read. This one was about the Maxwell Demon tour, and specifically, the opening act: Curt Wild. The journalist had spoken to Curt himself and confirmed that he was planning to record a new album whilst in London, with Brian Slade as producer. They would begin soon after the tour wrapped up. Prodded for a few song titles, Curt revealed "Be My Unclean", which he said was his best yet, and ["She's Like Poison"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZDdzyCkphU), a song that had been inspired by someone he loved.

" _'Someone I love'_? I bet I know who that is!" Sandra crowed.

"Brian Slade," Arthur guessed, well remembering the [infamous photograph](http://screenmusings.org/movie/dvd/Velvet-Goldmine/images/Velvet-Goldmine-0765.jpg) in the newspaper of the two men kissing. The very photograph that had helped get him disowned by his family, in fact.

"Exactly!" Sandra agreed.

"We've been reading _everything_ about those two," Christine added, "And we're quite sure they're in love. You think so, too?"

"Yeah, I do," Arthur said, blushing a little. "It seems... well, obvious."

"I wonder what Brian will think about you," Sandra mused. "Do you think he'll be jealous?"

"Jealous? I doubt it. I probably won't even see him."

"What do you suppose you and Curt will do?" Christine asked. Arthur blushed deeply and Sandra started giggling. Christine laughed at herself, saying, "Ok, maybe I shouldn't ask!"

"Make sure you at least kiss him again, though," Sandra said to Arthur, who thought to himself that he'd give up his firstborn to be able to do just that. The thought surprised him a little. To deflect attention from himself he asked, "What if it was you he invited? Would you go?"

"God, I wish!" Christine sighed. "If I stayed out all night dad'd _kill_ me."

"My parents wouldn't mind," Sandra said, "but... well, I'm not really into boys." She shrugged.

This statement prompted a whirl of emotions in Arthur's chest, and he surprised himself again by responding, "I'm not really into girls, actually."

Sandra broke into a grin just as Christine's face fell, but Christine had schooled her expression into something less disappointed before Sandra looked her way. So, Christine had a crush on him! Arthur wasn't really sure how to deal with that.

"Well, that's two of us," Sandra said, clearly pleased.

As it turned out, Arthur didn't need to do much of anything, as Christine excused herself shortly after, saying the day had worn her out. According to the clock on the wall, it was getting rather late and Sandra told her she'd be up in a bit, but she remained with Arthur as Christine made her way upstairs.

"So," Sandra said, once it was just the two of them, "When did you figure out you liked boys?"

"Hmm." Arthur stopped to think. It was something he'd never consciously contemplated before. "I guess," he said hesitantly, "It was back in grammar school. I remember kissing another little boy behind the gardener's shed at school, and he went and told the teacher, and the teacher told my parents and I got in trouble. I guess I didn't really think too much about it again until I discovered Brian Slade earlier this year. I just thought he was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, and when I heard him talking on TV about liking boys just as much as girls, it sort of hit me all at once. That I was like him, I mean. You know, except for the liking girls bit." Arthur shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "What about you? You said you're not into boys?"

"Yeah, I kind of did the same thing you did. Went around kissing the girls in school and wanting to hold hands and everything. No one paid it any mind back then, they just said it was innocent girlish fun. But the other girls stopped wanting to do that when we were around twelve or thirteen. They all started talking about boys, and I didn't get it. My Mum said I was a late bloomer and I'd understand one day. But I still don't. Which I guess makes me a _lesbian_." She said the word as though it didn't quite fit in her mouth yet. "I hope my parents never find out, because they're already disappointed in me. They wanted a girly girl and I'm not. At least now, with Brian Slade around, I can wear boys' clothes without getting in trouble, since everything is so colourful and glittery. All the clothes look the same."

"Yeah, that's true, isn't it? I hadn't thought of it that way. I'd just been thinking it was boys wearing girls' clothes, but it's the other way round, too."

"It is, yeah. I really wish I could get a boy's haircut, but my parents would never allow it."

"You could do a Maxwell Demon. That's not terribly masculine, is it?"

"I've thought about it! Could never get away with dyeing it blue, but it would be fun. What about you? Could you do the blue?"

"My parents would hate it, but they're not in my life any more, so yeah! I could, actually."

"Oh, I'm sorry, what happened to your parents?"

"Nothing happened to _them_. They decided they didn't want a "poof" for a son. So I left." Arthur attempted a smile to lighten his words, but he didn't think it was very convincing.

"God, I'm sorry," Sandra replied, then added, more quietly, "I hope that doesn't happen to me."

"If it does, you're welcome to be flatmates with me," Arthur offered.

"Thanks," Christine replied. "Speaking of which, where are you going to live? Do you have any idea?"

"I'm sure something will turn up. Maybe I can talk to some fans at the gig and see who's got a room to let."

Sandra agreed that was a good idea and then wished Arthur a good night. She disappeared upstairs and Arthur sat for a bit thinking about everything they'd talked about. He couldn't help wondering how many other teenagers there were in Britain who were in his and Sandra's position. If only there were some way for all of them to find each other, they could take care of each other when their families failed them. A moment later he almost laughed aloud at himself. Of course! How had he and Sandra met? How was he planning to find a place to live? Brian Slade was like a magnet to poofs and dykes like himself and his new friend, and he couldn't be the only one seeking refuge amongst like minds.

The thought comforted him and he set about making a cosy bed on the sofa with the pillows and blankets the girls had left behind, utterly relieved to be sleeping indoors. He washed the makeup from his face and brushed his teeth in the loo under the stairs, then took a quick peek out the front windows at the light rain coming down outside, before switching the lights off and curling up in his makeshift bed. A pale yellow glow from the street lamps outside illuminated the carpet in the front room, and fell across a photograph of Curt Wild on one of the newspapers that remained on the floor. Arthur gazed at it as he drifted into sleep, letting his imagination conjure up scenarios of their meeting that accompanied him until morning.

  
  


Arthur was disorientated for a few moments when he awoke, his heart starting to pound when the thought that he was back home again crept into his mind. He sighed with relief when he spotted the remains of last night's festivities, and glanced over at the clock on the wall. Half-nine. He was surprised Christine's dad hadn't ushered him out already, but glad he'd gotten some good sleep. With a yawn and a stretch he emerged from under the blankets, and as he trudged off towards the toilet a door opened upstairs, and Christine peeked out. "Oh good, you're awake. I was about to start breakfast. My Mum should be back soon."

The prodigal Mum did indeed return within the hour, by which time the three teens were eating a simple breakfast of toast and bacon with beans. She greeted them with a bleary, but friendly hello, and Christine offered her a slice of toast, which she ate as she asked the three of them how the autograph hunting had gone.

Christine regaled her with the edited events of yesterday, changing Curt's wink at Arthur into a wave and omitting the kiss entirely. Sandra interjected with her own comments and spoke to Christine's mother as if she were her own. Arthur stayed largely silent, answering a few questions from Mum about where he was from and was he on holiday, and so on.

Following breakfast, Arthur and company reconvened in the front room with the morning's newspaper, and Arthur read out hiring adverts to the girls, who yeaed or nayed them to help him decide which to answer. With their help he narrowed it down to milk delivery (Only mornings! Sandra said), dog-walking (Wealthy people give good tips, Christine advised) and the one he really wanted, shelf-stocker at a small record shop in the east end.

He clipped the adverts and stashed them carefully in his suitcase, planning to ring the businesses tomorrow after his meeting with Curt. Christine and Sandra insisted that they accompany him to the hotel to 'see him off', as they put it, and Christine told him to wash his hair so as to make a good impression, so it was another two hours before the three of them were washed, made up, and ready to go. They were planning to spend a few hours at Biba and HMV before heading to the hotel for Arthur's meeting.

After enjoying themselves shopping for music and makeup, the three caught the Tube to the hotel, arriving a little early. Braving the highly sceptical stares of the porters, they ascended the steps into the lobby and marvelled in hushed tones at the [lush interior](http://www.f5blog.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/asian-wedding-photography-claridges-3.jpg) of the building, with its elegant antique furniture and gilded wallpaper. An enormous floor vase filled with a carefully arranged spray of feathers and dried flowers caught their attention, as did the art nouveau fireplace with the liquid curves and swoops of its mantel. 

They were just settling with delight onto the massive eggshell-white sofa facing the fireplace when the lift pinged musically and the brass door slid aside to reveal Curt Wild. He smiled when he saw Arthur, looking him right in the eye, and Arthur's heart leapt in his chest as he smiled back. The girls quickly got up and Arthur rose to hug each of them goodbye. "You've got to tell us all about it!" Christine hissed in his ear and Sandra, eyes twinkling, wished him good luck. The girls disappeared out the front doors, heads together in conference, as Curt made his way to the sofa to join Arthur. 

He looked stunningly handsome to Arthur, his platinum hair offset by his jet black clothing. He wore leather trousers and a tight t-shirt with a roaring leopard printed on the front. His belt was leopard print with a rhinestone buckle, and Arthur caught a glimpse of sharply pointed winklepickers on his feet. Arthur felt a bit shabby by comparison, but at least his eyeliner was perfect (Christine had touched it up for him, at [Biba](http://www.barbarahulanickidesign.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/CosmeticCounter.jpg)). He'd worn his v-necked green top to show off a bit of his chest, with his colourful new gypsy scarf tied loosely round his neck. The sewed-on coins tinkled as Curt drew Arthur into a quick hug in greeting, and Arthur took in a breath of Curt's scent, which was peppery and musky with a fine cologne. Feeling Curt's warmth against him was thrilling in a way female closeness had never been to Arthur.

"I'm glad you came," Curt said to Arthur as they seated themselves on the long sofa.

"I'm glad you invited me," Arthur replied.

"So, tell me about you. Why'd you decide to follow the tour?" Curt looked genuinely curious.

"Well, I love the music," Arthur started, "But I imagine you've already guessed that."

Curt smirked and nodded, draping one arm over the back of the sofa and resting his face against his hand.

Arthur wasn't sure how much detail he should get into, as his story of leaving home was certainly a bit of a downer. "I wanted to move away from home, which is Manchester," he added, not knowing his American companion's level of knowledge of British accents, "and London looked good, so when the tour came through I thought I'd just tag along and enjoy meself a bit before trying to find work."

"Bit of a holiday," Curt commented.

"Exactly. I was sick to death of school and everything, and I thought it couldn't hurt to have some fun."

"Has it been what you expected?"

"It's been better! I never thought I would meet you or Brian Slade." Arthur blushed a little at his own honesty. He sometimes wished he could stop himself blurting things out so quickly. He'd always valued honesty, though, so it wasn't all bad.

"I'm glad you're having a good time," Curt said. "Have you looked into any jobs yet?"

"Clipped a few things from the paper this morning. I'm hoping to get a place at a record shop."

"Can't do better than free records," Curt nodded.

"Do they give you them free if you work at one?"

"Did when _I_ worked at the record store," Curt confirmed. "It was fucking great. I got to pick a free one each week."

"So, this was in America, yeah?" 

"Right. Back in Michigan. My first job. Drove my folks crazy with free jazz for a while there."

"Free jazz? I don't think I've ever heard it."

"Really? Ornette Coleman? No?" At Arthur's continued blank look, Curt sat up straight and paused for a moment, thinking. "You know, I think I have a record or two upstairs, and if not we can find one, easy. You wanna come up and listen?"

"Yeah, I do," Arthur agreed enthusiastically.

"All right. Let's do it," Curt replied with a grin. "This shit'll blow your mind. Come on." He stood and waited for Arthur to follow before leading them to the golden door of the lift.

  
  


[Ornette Coleman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bRTFr0ytA8) turned out to be unlike anything Arthur had ever heard before – somewhat akin to the noises of a forest and its animals translated into music. At least, that's all he could come up with as a description.

Curt guided him through some of the technical aspects of the music and told him how influential it had been on his band, The Rats. "The sheer anarchical disregard for the musical establishment basically showed us the way to do what we did."

Curt and Arthur were settled on opposite ends of a window seat in Curt and Brian's suite of rooms on an upper floor, talking music. Arthur had hid his dazzled amazement at the luxury of the place as best he could, but still couldn't help gazing around every so often to take everything in. The floors were polished wood spread with lush Persian rugs featuring a poppy motif, and the furniture was every bit as fine as that in the lobby, beautifully carved and upholstered in richly embroidered fabrics. A cut glass vase of dozens of perfect white roses enhanced the coffee table, and a crystal chandelier sparkled in front of the enormous mirror that graced the mantel. Immaculate curtains, marble-topped side tables, and expertly moulded ceilings finished the look, but the room was dominated by the elegant grand piano that sat near the French doors, which led onto a balcony. Arthur knew next to nothing about pianos, but thought he'd seen one like this in a history book once. He wouldn't be surprised if it was an antique. Some pages were scattered on the seat and Arthur was sure they were part of a new song by one of his heroes, though he hadn't had the opportunity to ask yet.

The two musicians had had a record player brought into the suite and set up in the sitting room, which Arthur was currently admiring. He'd caught a glimpse through a doorway of a Delft blue dining room, and was hopeful he would have a chance to see the rest of the suite before he had to leave, but his attention was drawn back to the entryway when the lock clicked and turned over.

Curt rose with a smile, saying, "Brian's back," and motioned for Arthur to follow him to the door. Arthur trailed nervously after, wondering if Brian would be irritated to have a fan hanging about in his private space. Arthur watched as Curt took a Selfridges shopping bag from Brian's hand and set it aside, then enfolded him in a hug, which Brian gladly returned. They shared a quick kiss and a few quiet words before Brian noticed Arthur's presence.

He pulled back from Curt and turned to Arthur, saying over his shoulder to Curt, "So this is your new pet? What's your name?" he added to Arthur, who answered him as they shook hands. 

Brian's hand was smooth and manicured, and his grip was soft, nothing like the vice-hold of many of the men Arthur had met in his life. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur," he said with a winning smile. "I believe we encountered one another yesterday, but it was much too brief."

Arthur was incredibly flattered that Brian remembered him, though he caught a little eyeroll and smirk from Curt at Brian's words.

“So, what have you two been up to?” Brian asked Curt, picking his shopping back up and bringing it in to set on the coffee table.

“I've been introducing him to free jazz.”

“Oh! It's really something, isn't it?” Brian said to Arthur.

“I've never heard anything remotely like it,” Arthur agreed.

Brian was digging through the bag now. "I brought refreshments!" he announced, and pulled a beer out, handing it to Curt, who promptly cracked it open and took a long sip. Brian offered one to Arthur and then pulled a small item from the bag that Arthur didn't catch a glimpse of. He excused himself to the toilet and returned several minutes later, looking rather perky and wild-eyed.

“Would you like to hear my new song?” he asked Arthur, already making for the piano.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

Brian scooped up the papers and seated himself at the instrument, Curt leaning against one side of the keyboard, sipping his beer, and Arthur hovering just behind Brian, drink forgotten in his hand. Arthur was practically vibrating with excitement and wanted to try to remember all the lyrics so he could tell his friends later.

Brian carefully arranged the pages, which featured proper notated music in some sections, and chords and lyrics in others. The title, written in lightly at the top of the page, was [“Tumbling Down”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSJ5_n8QZh0). He began a slow and descending intro on the piano, adding in some delicate sparkling notes over the top in the second bar, before beginning the vocal on the third.

Arthur was in heaven getting to hear his very own private performance from his absolute favourite artist, and a brand new song, at that! He noticed he was holding his breath as Brian's clear, expressive voice filled the room, so he forced himself to continue breathing. It was a completely different experience to hear Brian singing right next to him, compared to hearing his voice from stereo speakers, or even amplified through a PA system. The resonance was beautiful and hearing each soft breath he took between phrases made the song blossom to life. The song ended on a series of dramatic low chords with another string of the sparkling high notes to provide rhythm, and a quick staccato crash of keys at the finish. 

Curt began applauding and Arthur quickly set his can on the piano bench next to Curt's, so he could follow suit. 

“So, what did you think?” Brian asked Arthur, turning to look at him.

“I loved it! I can't wait for the recorded version.” Brian looked pleased and turned to the keyboard once more.

“Would you like to hear some Mozart?” he asked.

Both Curt and Arthur urged him on and he commenced a [swift and sprightly piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quxTnEEETbo) that Arthur immediately recognised, but of which he had never known the name or composer. Brian's fingers flew with flawless precision across the keyboard, leaving Arthur mesmerised. His Mum had forced him to take piano lessons for a while as a child, but he'd never really enjoyed it much, so witnessing this level of expertise at the instrument was stunning.

“I didn't know you played Mozart!” Curt said when Brian had tapped out the last notes.

“That's the only one I know,” Brian said, directing a sheepish smile at Curt. Arthur was suddenly struck by how beautiful Brian was as his face was sidelit by the setting sun through the French doors, and Arthur considered how easy it would be to fall in love with him. He was every bit as charming as everyone always said in the papers.

“That was fucking amazing, babe,” Curt said, and moved to wrap an arm around Brian from behind, leaning down to kiss his temple.

Arthur's hosts had a quick discussion about their plans for the evening, and then announced to him that it was time to get dressed for dinner.

  
  


It would never have occurred to Arthur to spend such a lengthy period getting dressed for an outing. Even Curt spent a good while trying on different jackets, reapplying his eyeliner, and fussing with his hair, and Brian, well...

Arthur found himself playing the role of assistant, fetching items for the two men, so they could carry on primping uninterrupted.

"Arthur, could you fetch the gold lamé trousers?" Brian asked. "I think they're on the right side of the closet." Curt and Brian had invited Arthur into their bedroom and its cavernous walk-in clothes closet where their suitcases full of off-stage clothing had been unpacked and hung up. 

Brian tried on about five different outfits before settling on a combination of garments selected from the previous outfits: a white silk shirt, silver satin waistcoat with pearl buttons, a deep sky blue silk cravat with opal tie pin, silver satin trousers, and silver patent leather ankle boots with spike heels. The ensemble offset his electric blue hair beautifully, and each item was obviously bespoke, fitting him like a glove.

“You look perfect,” Curt told him. Brian preened a little in the full-length mirror, looking pleased. Arthur had assumed that they would be ready to go once dressed, but he was wrong. Brian now seated himself at the vanity and carefully began removing his makeup, only to put it on afresh. He and Curt discussed their options for the evening as Brian worked at his face, and they eventually settled on The Rainbow Room as their destination, whatever that might be. Arthur knew nothing about it, but filed the name away as part of his education about London. He still wasn't quite sure if he would be allowed to come along to dinner, as he hadn't been directly invited.

He lost himself watching Brian applying his eye makeup, and Brian paused to glance at him in the mirror. "Sorry," Arthur muttered, looking away. There he went, staring like a starstruck teeny-bopper. How embarrassing.

Brian surprised him, though. "It's all right. Look all you like. You might learn something useful." He gave Arthur a little smile before returning to the task.

Once his mask was successfully applied, Brian rose from the vanity and turned to survey Arthur with a critical eye. "I think some of your things will fit him better than mine would," Brian remarked to Curt, who was seated on the sofa at the foot of the bed leafing through The Times. Arthur's heart leapt – he was coming with them after all!

"What?" Curt said, confused, mind still on a news story. Brian tilted his head towards Arthur. Understanding dawned. "Oh, right." Curt got up and began rummaging through the closet once more, occasionally peering out at Arthur, frowning, and resuming exploration. He emerged several minutes later with brown and white snakeskin trousers and a white t-shirt draped over his arm. He handed these to Arthur, saying, "Try 'em on."

"Ok, thanks."

After hesitating and stalling for a minute by examining the trousers, Arthur quickly realised that neither of the men planned to give him privacy. Brian was leaning against the vanity, regarding him with an almost fond amusement, and Curt was quite openly ogling, newspaper forgotten, waiting for the show to begin. Well, he wasn't about to disappoint them, was he?

He managed to shed his clothes without any painfully awkward moments (he'd been slightly anxious about stumbling out of his jeans or getting his head stuck in his shirt), and did his best to look nonchalant about having an audience while dressing. One of the girls in his year at school had told him that he had a 'nice arse', so he turned around to put it on view as he shimmied into the tight trousers, buttoning them with some difficulty round his hips. This was clearly a good idea, as Curt wolf-whistled appreciatively. Arthur grinned at him over his shoulder.

He grabbed the t-shirt, which he had hung over the bed post, unfolded it, and found it emblazoned with the words, "A WOP BOP A LOO BOP" on the front, and "A LOP BAM BOOM" on the back, in metallic gold capitals. Brilliant!

He wriggled into the t-shirt, which fit him tightly across the chest. He looked down at himself, then turned to fully face his audience. "What d'you think?"

Brian nodded indulgently, smiling, and Curt gave Arthur an enthusiastic double thumbs-up before rising once more and venturing back into the closet. He re-emerged holding a pair of brown leather wrist cuffs with gold studs, a matching dog collar, and a brown leather belt with a gold buckle, and stood back a few steps to observe while Arthur added them to his ensemble.

"Perfect," Brian stated once Arthur had finished buckling everything.

"Damn, you look good," Curt added, looking Arthur up and down. Arthur smiled shyly at him, blushing a bit.

“All right, are we ready?” Brian asked, grabbing a small clutch purse from the vanity and making towards the door of the bedroom. He paused at the door and looked back at Curt, raising his eyebrows questioningly, then slipped out.

"Hang on, lemme go make sure he's not upset," Curt said under his breath to Arthur, his expression one of long-suffering fondness. "Wait here." He disappeared through the doorway to the living area of the suite, and Arthur stationed himself as close as he dared to listen in.

"Hey, everything ok, babe?" 

"Of course. Are you ready to go?" Arthur heard a quick kiss.

"Yeah, all good."

"Excellent. Arthur! Are you coming?"

Arthur hurried to grab his wallet from his suitcase, answering, "Yes, I'm coming! Sorry."

  
  


The three men piled into a sleek black Jaguar that was waiting at the curb for them and headed off for The Rainbow Room, Arthur enjoying the sights of London at night through the darkened windows of the car.

Arthur was pleasantly surprised when their car pulled up to Biba, where he had enjoyed the early afternoon with Christine and Sandra, trying on makeup and testing perfumes. He hadn't known there was a restaurant in the multi-storey building as well. He tagged along curiously as his hosts led the way into the grand brass lift, which rose several storeys and opened onto a broad and beautiful dining room with a pink marble floor, lit from above by an array of lights glowing, hidden, in the moulding. The effect from the multi-coloured bulbs was a delicate rainbow cascading across the ceiling, and the stout ionic columns, potted palms, and beautifully draped table cloths gave the place [an aura](http://static.messynessychic.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/3673357509.jpg) of old Hollywood in the '30s. This was to say nothing of the clientele, who were themselves works of art.

Arthur had to carefully resist staring at everyone around him as the dramatically made-up hostess led them to their reserved table in an alcove in view of the brilliant white stage at the rear of the room, on which rested a grand piano, also in white. Guitars, drums, and microphones had also been set up, and Arthur was hopeful there would be live music. Reaching their table took considerably longer than Arthur had expected, as Curt and Brian were continually being stopped by other diners, some of whom Arthur recognised from music magazines. A little tingle went up his spine as it hit him that he was in the midst of some of the most creative people in Britain.

He stood shyly at Curt's elbow as Brian and Curt chatted amiably with various friends, acquaintances, and admirers, but managed to catch a few winks and nods from interested-looking women and men. He felt a bit like a lobster who had just been thrown into the pot and was starting to notice the heat. He'd never seen so much gold jewellery before in his life, not to mention furs, feather boas, Italian shoes, and sparkling diamond cuff links. He hadn't thought such wealth and glamour existed outside films.

Once safely ensconced at their table, Brian ordered a bottle of champagne while Arthur examined the menu. Just as he was thinking to himself that he could never afford even a cup of soup at this place, Curt leaned towards him and whispered, "Don't worry, it's on us." Arthur nodded thanks, managing an embarrassed half-smile.

After some deliberation he decided on the cheapest item on the menu, roasted quail in currant sauce. The champagne arrived and their orders were taken by one of the many tall, slim waitresses who glided about the place like exotic birds.

The three of them ended up in an amusing conversation about the best and worst meals they had ever had, and Brian's best left Arthur gape-jawed, as it had involved caviar served on someone's thigh, and though Curt prodded him for a name he refused to eat and tell, grinning mischievously like a Cheshire cat instead. Arthur was feeling self-conscious about revealing his own best meal, as it had been made for him by his Gran before she had died and was nothing fancy, but he felt better when Curt said that his own best meal had been when his Mom had brought him dinner in the hospital when he broke his leg falling out of a tree.

The conversation eventually turned to other topics, and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur's attention was caught by a flurry of activity at the entrance to the dining room, so he turned to look. A waitress was carrying a black fur stole to the cloak room, and several other members of staff were fluttering around a central figure, who was blocked from view. They stepped aside momentarily and Arthur caught a glimpse of a sleek figure clad in blacks and burgundies, a long red bob caressing angular cheekbones, shimmering black jewellery draped over collarbone and wrists. Arthur wasn't certain of the sex of this person, but thought she or he was stunning, just the same. 

"Oh, look, there's Jack," Brian said. "Jack Fairy," he added to Arthur's curious glance round.

"Is he a musician?"

"Of sorts," Brian replied. "He is best known as a muse _extraordinaire_ and living embodiment of beauty." Arthur couldn't argue with that.

Curt evidently could, though. "Mmm, he's not really my type. I mean, I think he's all right, but nothing stunning."

" _I_ know what you think is stunning," Brian said seductively, giving Curt a steamy look from beneath mascaraed lashes.

Curt bit back a grin, eyes locked with Brian's. "Do you ever," he agreed, and leaned in for a tastefully brief kiss before the two returned their attention to the slow approach of Jack Fairy. Arthur followed their lead and saw that Jack had at least as many friends and admirers as his own two hosts did. Jack arrived at their table presently and greeted Brian and Curt warmly.

"Jack, darling, you always look impeccable. I wish I knew how you find your clothes," Brian said to him.

"I have the simplest tastes," Jack insisted, eyeing each of them in turn, "I am always satisfied with the best!" He smirked and then seemed to properly notice Arthur for the first time. "Oh, aren't you lovely?" he commented softly.

"Ain't he, though?" Curt remarked, giving Arthur's leg a squeeze under the table.

"And what is your name?" Jack asked Arthur politely.

Arthur told him and stood from his seat, extending a hand to shake, and Jack offered his palm-down, a large onyx ring sparkling on his little finger, nails blackened to match. Arthur panicked for a moment, not sure what to do, but then remembered a film he'd watched on telly about the knights of Camelot and how the hero had kissed the Queen's hand. He took Jack's fingers in his and pulled off what he sincerely hoped was a passable imitation of chivalry, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you," when he raised his head again.

His audience seemed universally delighted at his manners, and he tried to look nonchalant.

At that moment the food arrived, two waitresses bearing black plates with stylishly arranged cuts of meat and vegetables gracing their surfaces. "I'll let you get on with it!" Jack said with a smile as the food was set down and he floated off to his own reserved table near the stage, which already had a bottle of wine and a small bouquet of roses waiting on it, along with a pretty young man who waved eagerly as Jack approached. _Jack must be a regular,_ thought Arthur, as he reseated himself.

Dinner was delicious, washed down with glasses of the heady champagne, and Arthur was proved correct in his suspicion that there would be music, as a band called [Cockney Rebel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bReQzkhMEJA) took the stage not long after the food was served and played a half-hour set, followed by a lengthy break for drinks and cigarettes.

Brian took the opportunity to slip away from his companions and go say hello to the members of the band, leaving his unfinished meal behind. Curt started plucking bits of beef in brandy sauce from the plate and eating them with gusto. His own plate had been emptied quickly. 

"Won't he want that when he gets back?" Arthur asked.

"Naw," Curt replied around a mouthful of roast, "He eats like a bird. I can never get enough at these places. The portions are so tiny."

Arthur was still finishing his quail, due to it being served on the bone, but guessed it would have taken him about as much time to eat Curt's lamb chops as it had taken Curt. That beef wasn't looking half-bad, actually.

"Could I have some of that?" Arthur asked Curt, who was happily finishing off Brian's dinner.

"By all means," Curt said, and picked the plate up to set it down between them.

When they'd finished they sat back contentedly and watched Cockney Rebel tuning up for another set. The lights seemed possibly to have dimmed, Arthur thought, though they hadn't been bright in the first place. He felt he was in a beautiful crystalline cave, the numerous mirrors on the walls reflecting and multiplying the mysterious creatures who inhabited the grotto. The band started up, joined now by several musicians with orchestral instruments, and wove a [dreamy song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXoGCxZ7cGA) through the air, which danced past the tables and circled the potted palms.

Arthur was brought out of his champagne reverie by Curt. "C'mere," Curt said softly, giving Arthur's leg another squeeze through the snakeskin trousers. 

Arthur glanced round the room reflexively and Curt leaned towards him again. "Don't worry, nobody here minds," Curt said in his ear.

 _Curt wanted to kiss him?!_ Arthur felt himself fall into it, and no longer cared whether they were being tasteful or not. One of Curt's strong hands wound into the hair at his nape, and the other slid between his thighs, fingers stroking and pressing as their mouths melded. Arthur wanted to melt into a puddle. He got intensely hard very quickly under Curt's hand and Curt grinned against his mouth when he couldn't hold back a small moan.

"You're going to be so much fun," Curt murmured to him, and Arthur was deeply thankful for the dwindling light as he flushed all the way down to his chest. "I can't wait," he whispered breathlessly in response. _He was going to lose his virginity to Curt Wild! This very night!_ He thought he would pass out, but it was just the champagne making him giddy.

Curt gave him one more kiss, then took a deep breath and leaned back, hands falling away from Arthur. He looked Arthur up and down hungrily, then said, "Patience." He winked and turned back to the stage, leaving a breathless Arthur longing for more, yet knowing it might still be hours before they could continue where they left off. 

Arthur tugged at the leather collar round his neck; it seemed to be much too hot in the restaurant now. He considered the champagne bottle, debating whether to have another glass to cool himself, and decided it couldn't hurt. He drained the last drops into his glass and sipped as the band played on.

Brian had disappeared to realms unknown, but Curt didn't seem bothered by it, so Arthur allowed himself to enjoy the music without worry. After a few songs, Jack reappeared at the table like a gilded moth gliding in from the darkness. Seeing Brian's absence, he alighted on the bench seat closest to Curt and leaned towards him conspiratorially. "Tell me, Sphinx," he said, "When you are alone with him, does he take off his face and reveal his mask?" Arthur barely heard him over the guitars.

" _Jack_ ," Curt said, giving him a censorious look.

"I only wonder," Jack deferred, tapping his cigarette holder over the table's ashtray. "I hope he is _behaving_ himself."

"Quite well," Curt assured him.

Jack looked unconvinced, but rather than replying took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

"You can always talk to me," he said, "You know that, though," he added, cutting off Curt's irritated response. "Come up and see me in the garden," Jack then said to Arthur, who nodded with surprise. What garden, he didn't know, but he intended to find out. He'd already decided he liked this Jack fellow.

Jack waved them goodbye and made his way to the entrance, presumably to take the lift to the garden. 

"Whadda ya think?" Curt asked him, "Are you gonna go?"

"Yeah, I think I will," Arthur answered him thoughtfully. He'd never been around so many men who were... like himself. Never been around any, full stop, come to think of it. He wasn't about to turn down an opportunity to get to know one of them when the invitation had been so openly offered.

  
  


The roof garden was magical, lit with fairy lights and wonderfully quiet, with only soft murmuring and laughter from its guests, and the trickle of water down a small cascade of rocks that led to a koi pond. The sounds of London's street traffic was like a distant dream hovering on the faraway horizon. Arthur found himself glad he'd had that extra glass of champagne, as it gave the world an enchanted glow that perfectly suited the garden's dusky mystery. Little stone paths curled round shrubs and disappeared behind small, trained trees and clumps of pampas grasses. Tiny flowers speckled the walkway, gazing up at him in shades of grey in the dim light. With every twist in the path he would catch a glimpse of a little nook hidden away behind greenery, a happy couple seated close together on a large stone or iron bench.

Just when he was beginning to wonder where Jack could be, he rounded another hedge and saw the dark, elegant form seated on a small, moss-covered stone bridge that crossed a second koi pond. The fairy lights illuminated the red of his hair, and made him look rather like a large flower to Arthur's eyes. Jack looked up as he approached and smiled, patting the spot next to him on the bridge. Arthur sat.

"Do tell me about yourself, Arthur. How did you meet the two [lovebirds?](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/d1/51/43/d15143cd4eda62d2ee71ec97bf8cf4e2.jpg)"

Arthur related his tale to Jack, who seemed quite attentive and interested, asking follow up questions and making little comments here and there. He congratulated Arthur on making the decision to leave his parents' home and come to London.

"What about you? I guess you've known Brian for a while?" Arthur asked, curious, once he'd finished his story.

"Oh, yes," Jack smiled, but Arthur thought he had a touch of sadness about his eyes. It could just have been the poor lighting. "We were close some years ago, or at least I was as close to Brian as anyone can be. He's quite mysterious," Jack added at Arthur's raised brow. "Even more mysterious than I am, though no one will believe it."

"Is that what you meant when you said the thing about the mask?"

"Yes. That is indeed what I meant."

Here Jack changed the subject, telling Arthur all about the best clubs and restaurants in London in which to be seen, and Arthur listened delightedly to his stories and gossip about each locale. He was a charming story-teller, and knew something about seemingly anyone of importance.

Presently he took a cigarette break, offering one to Arthur, who declined with thanks and decided he probably ought to check back in with Curt and Brian. He wouldn't want to hold up their plans for the evening (or get left behind, which he supposed was a distinct possibility, all things considered).

"I hope I'll see you around some of those clubs I mentioned," said Jack by way of farewell.

"If I can get on the guest list, you will!" Arthur had just made it off the stone bridge when Jack called to him. He turned around.

"Oh, and I was wondering, could you tell Curt something for me?"

"Sure, of course."

"I'm going to be moving to Berlin in a few weeks. Probably the Neukölln district. That's all."

"I'll tell him," Arthur promised. He left Jack calmly smoking on the bridge, blowing rings into the night sky.

  
  


Arthur returned to find that Curt had moved tables to sit with some fellow musicians with whom he was chatting animatedly. Brian was still absent. Arthur wondered if it was typical for them to socialise separately, noting that Curt seemed happy enough on his own. He approached the group and Curt pulled out a chair for him, into which he settled himself and tried to catch up on the table's conversation.

Arthur had a very enjoyable time discussing music with professional musicians, but realised something might be wrong with Curt when he eventually put a hand on Arthur's arm and leaned close to his ear, saying, "Come on. Let's go find Brian." There was a touch of hardness about his eyes as he scanned the room, seeking.

The two of them wandered the dining room under the pretence of talking with friends, but Arthur could see that Curt's eyes were continually drifting over the shoulders of the people he was talking to. When no blue head was forthcoming from the crowd Curt led Arthur at last to the toilets, where, sure enough, Brian was busily snorting something from a marble worktop, accompanied by several companions who shrunk away from him nervously when they spotted Curt.

Curt stood and waited with his arms folded across his chest for Brian to stand upright.

"Are you ready to go?" he said coldly when Brian noticed his presence. Arthur pretended he was part of the wallpaper, attempting to edge away towards the door.

Brian considered Curt for a moment, his expression curiously blank and emotionless. “Yes, I think we ought to,” he replied stiffly, and wiped at his nose with a hand. The two continued staring each other down for several more seconds before Brian broke eye contact and swept past Curt and out the door. He didn't even notice Arthur, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge him. 

Curt turned, catching Arthur's eye and motioned towards the door with his head, making for it himself. He looked stressed and Arthur couldn't blame him. Evidently he had been expecting to enjoy Brian's company throughout the evening, and not just for part of it. 

The car ride back to the hotel was uncomfortably silent and Arthur had the feeling Brian and Curt were only holding back due to his presence, which made him terribly self-conscious and a bit fidgety. He didn't even realise he was jiggling his leg with nervous energy until Brian snapped at him to knock it off, which he did with a mortified apology. Curt let out an angry sigh, glancing at Brian, but saying nothing.

Arthur was utterly relived to be out of the car when they finally arrived at the hotel, and he watched as Brian stalked off up the steps without Curt, who also watched him go. Curt turned to Arthur, saying, “If you want to sleep here, you're welcome, but I'll understand if you don't.”

Arthur considered it briefly, and thought he should probably go. He didn't want to leave Curt, especially after that snog they'd had earlier, but Brian seemed less-than-thrilled (to put it lightly) to still have him hanging about. He felt really torn. “Do you want me to stay?” he finally asked. 

To Arthur's great surprise, Curt's reply was, “Yeah, I really do.” Arthur couldn't help smiling, and Curt returned his smile, adding, “Brian's not mad at you. It's _me_ he's pissed at. Come on.” 

When they reached the suite, Curt told Arthur he could stay in the second bedroom, which was down the corridor from the master bedroom. He fetched his suitcase and clothes for him from the other room, advising, “Go ahead and use the phone, the TV, make yourself some coffee, whatever. Order room service if you get hungry. Just make yourself at home.” 

Arthur did so, as best he was able with the sound of Curt and Brian fighting in the room next door. He put on the telly to drown out the sound of their voices and explored the bedroom and ensuite bathroom, deciding to take the free shampoo, soap, and pillow mints as souvenirs for Christine and Sandra when he left. He then curled up on the enormous bed, eyeing the telephone and debating whether to give his Mum a ring. She'd spotted him boarding the bus when he left Manchester, and had tried to run after him and he felt guilty about that. He decided against it, after some deliberation. _Let her worry a bit_ , he thought angrily. She'd stood and said nothing when his father had been shouting at him about his sins and how he'd go straight to hell. She'd done nothing when his father hit him. He'd ring her later.

He let himself get wrapped up in the film that was playing and didn't notice that the arguing from next door had ceased until he started to hear moans and exclamations of pleasure through the wall. For a few minutes he tried to pretend he didn't hear it, but then realised he wasn't even watching the film anymore, just waiting with bated breath for the next suggestive sound to filter through from the other room. He felt vaguely anxious about listening in, even though it was doing no harm, and he lay on the bed feeling very conflicted until it occurred to him that he was thinking about the last time he'd tried to vicariously enjoy Curt and Brian's erotic connection to each other. There was no chance now of anyone bursting in on him and humiliating him, so why not enjoy?

He stripped off his clothes and closed his eyes, imagining that the two men were there in bed with him, and let their vocal pleasure drive him mad with lust. He'd never felt freer before in his life. He managed to bring himself to orgasm twice before the noises next door tapered off. 

An hour or so later he drifted off to sleep to the soft sound of piano music floating in from the lounge, his whole body glowing with sensual bliss.

  
  


Arthur could hardly believe he was still in the hotel when he woke up Sunday. He wrapped himself in the plush white bathrobe that hung in the ensuite and ventured out of his room to see what was going on. He met a shirtless and barefoot Curt coming down the corridor from the lounge carrying a tray with covered dishes on it. 

“Oh, there you are! I was just about to wake you up. Got you breakfast.” Curt brought the tray into Arthur's room and set it on the table for him, saying, “Hope you like bacon and eggs.”

“Of course,” Arthur confirmed. “Thank you so much.” 

Curt nodded and smiled. “We've got to head to rehearsals soon, so if you wanna come, try to hurry.” He left Arthur to his breakfast.

Arthur sat and enjoyed the food, which included coffee, orange juice, toast, and fruit, as well as the aforementioned bacon and eggs. He was incredibly excited already to have the chance to go to rehearsals; this whole episode of his life was like a wild fantasy come true, and he was still hoping to spend some time alone with Curt, though it was looking a bit less likely than it had yesterday. He showered and dressed in the clothes Curt had lent him last night, minus collar and cuffs, as his own clothes were a bit smelly and he thought he might run them to a laundrette. 

Hauling the bundle of clothes and his suitcase, he wandered out to the lounge where he found Brian on the telephone, evidently discussing that evening's show, and a now-fully-clothed Curt reading the morning paper. Curt looked up and knew immediately what the bundle was about. “Just leave your clothes on the floor in your room. The housekeepers will get them washed for you.” 

Soon enough the three of them were in a car on their way to the concert venue for rehearsals. Arthur was surprised when Brian stopped him outside the stage door of the venue, after Curt had already gone inside. “I'm sorry for being beastly to you last night. I wasn't myself,” he said to Arthur.

“No harm done,” Arthur told him. He was just happy that Brian wasn't resentful of his presence, as he had previously seemed to be.

“I'm glad. Let's find you a seat to watch rehearsals from, shall we?”

Rehearsals went smoothly, and Arthur found it fascinating to see professional musicians tending to the technical aspects of their seemingly flawless public performances. It made him realise the amount of sheer work that went into music when he saw Brian rehearse the same song four times in a row, with a slightly different set of scripted movements each time to accompany the music.

There was a break for late lunch, which Arthur was invited to join along with all the touring crew, as well as The Rats and The Venus In Furs. He ended up chatting with and listening in on the conversations of quite a number of these people, several of whom were curious about the new face in their midst, and peppered him with questions.

It seemed mere minutes to Arthur before the first opening act, a little glam outfit from Hackney, was conducting a quick sound check, and the queue of fans outside the venue began to snake away down the road like a human river. Doors would open soon, and Brian and Curt and their respective backing bands were now backstage getting costumed and made up.

Arthur had been given a backstage pass to wear around his neck, so he took the risk of exiting the venue to see if he could find his two friends in the queue. Sure enough, they were waiting not far from the front, chatting excitedly with each other, both decked out in their sparkliest clothing. When they saw Arthur striding towards them in his eye-catching snakeskin trousers they waved and jumped up and down giddily, and squished him between them in a hug when he reached them. 

“How _are_ you?!” Sandra exclaimed. “Did you shag Curt?”

Arthur laughed. “Not yet!” he replied, then hissed, “But I kissed him again!” This got the expected ecstatic reaction from the pair.

“We were talking about how they must have kidnapped you and run off to Europe or something,” Christine said, “We weren't expecting you to stay the night. You did stay the night with them, didn't you?”

“Yeah, I did!”

“Oh my god! In the same bed?!” Sandra squeaked. 

“No, a different room, but you should see their suite in the hotel! It's like a palace! It's got a grand piano and chandeliers in it.”

“Holy crap! I wish I could see it,” Christine sighed. 

“Did they buy you this outfit?” Sandra wondered, indicating Arthur's clothing.

“No, these are Curt's. He's letting me wear them.” Sandra pretended to swoon, and Christine caught her, making Arthur laugh again.

“GOD, you are the luckiest fuck ever,” said Sandra, quickly forgetting her swoon and letting Christine help her upright again. 

“Did you manage to sell those tickets?” Arthur asked them.

“Yeah, we did!” said Christine, “Two girls were desperate for some, as they'd not been able to get any when they first went on sale, but luckily we were there.” 

“We felt like heroes. They were so happy,” Sandra added.

“Perfect! You can get your t-shirts, then.” At that moment Arthur noticed the queue beginning to move and saw that the doors had been opened. “I've got to run,” he said, “I'll see you later!” 

Once more in the darkness of the backstage area, Arthur hurried towards the dressing rooms, and found that Curt had just emerged from his, his look for the evening complete. He was resplendent in silver, his hips hugged by low-rise metallic leather trousers, his hair spray-painted to match, and black lipstick and eyeliner finishing off the look. He was bare-chested and wore silver Cuban-heeled boots to match the trousers. Arthur didn't even bother trying not to stare. Curt looked like one of his wet dreams.

Curt was smoking and talking with two of his bandmates, but once they'd finished speaking and the others had disappeared to tend to their gear, Curt turned his attention Arthur's way and gave him a searingly sexy look, sweeping his kohl-rimmed eyes up and down Arthur's body and taking a long drag from his cigarette, which he slowly exhaled in Arthur's direction.

Arthur felt his face heating under the intensity of Curt's gaze and looked down a moment before glancing back up again. Several crew members passed between them, carrying mic stands and guitar cases, and when they'd cleared off Curt put his cigarette between his lips and beckoned Arthur after him with one hand, opening the door to the dressing room and disappearing inside. Arthur followed without hesitation.

Inside the dressing room, the cigarette was burning down on an ashtray and Curt was picking up a bottle of silver glitter and one of baby oil. These he handed silently to Arthur and stood waiting, watching Arthur with a hint of a smile around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

Arthur stared blankly for a moment at the bottles in his hands, then realised what Curt wanted him to do. He set the glitter down on the table and uncapped the baby oil, his heart beginning to pound as he poured a little in his hand and considered that he was about to put his hands all over Curt's bare skin. He started with Curt's arm and shoulder, rubbing the oil onto him, and flushed bright red when their eyes met. Curt smiled broadly at his reaction, but remained silent. Arthur poured some more oil into one hand, then set the bottle down and rubbed his hands together before pressing both of them to the warm skin of Curt's chest, stroking up and then down over both nipples, which rose into little points at the touch. Arthur was getting incredibly hard feeling Curt's body under his hands and bit his lip unconsciously as he spread the oil down over Curt's belly and around his sides.

“Go ahead and get my back, too,” Curt murmured, turning around. Arthur did as he was bid, slicking his palms across the smooth muscles that followed the curve of Curt's spine and cushioned his shoulder blades. He then took the bottle of fine silver glitter and began sprinkling it liberally over Curt's oiled skin, where it stuck and created a beautiful shimmer in the lights of the vanity. Curt turned back around to face Arthur and Arthur shook the glitter all over his front, too.

“There, I think that looks good,” Arthur said at last, stepping back to survey his handiwork.

“You know what looks even better?” Curt asked, taking the glitter from Arthur and setting it on the table. Arthur didn't have the chance to ask what Curt meant, as Curt stepped forward and immediately said, “You.” He locked their lips together and Arthur stumbled back against the table with the ferocity of the kiss. Curt lightly bit and sucked on Arthur's lips and gave his hard-on a quick rub, before grabbing Arthur's hand and pressing it to his own very insistent erection. Arthur, glad for the direction, stroked through the leather and followed Curt's lead with the kiss, venturing to take a few nibbles of his lips, as Curt's hand returned to its place at his groin, alternately pressing firmly and delicately running his fingertips up the length of Arthur's erection. Arthur moaned helplessly when Curt's fingers brushed over the head of his cock and Curt answered it with an aroused growl of his own.

Just at that moment there was a brisk knock at the door, and Curt pulled his mouth away from Arthur's with a frustrated huff, saying loudly, “Yeah? What do you want?”

“Curt, you've got 15 minutes before you're needed on stage,” a female voice told him.

“Got it, thanks,” Curt called back. He looked to Arthur and sighed. “I guess we've got to break it up for now, Arthur.” He snorted a laugh. “You should see your face.”

“You should see yours!” Arthur countered, and they both turned and looked in the vanity's mirror. Both their lower faces were smeared with Curt's black lipstick, looking as though they'd gotten into a fight with an ink bottle. 

“Jeez,” Curt said, grinning. He grabbed the bottle of baby oil and dabbed some on a tissue, handing it to Arthur. “This'll take it right off.”

After much rubbing and reapplication of lipstick, they were cleaned up and Curt ready to perform. Hurrying out to the wings of the stage, they halted just out of sight of the audience. The emcee was working up the crowd and Arthur watched his ebullient performance with amusement. “ _Girls and boys, fairy princesses and princes charming, may I proudly present to youuuu..._ ” He thrust an arm out towards the wing in which they stood. [" _Curt Wilde!_ "](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ym1zDQqWmew)

"It doesn't have an E on the end," Curt muttered.

"What?" Arthur asked him, half-distracted.

"Nothing," Curt replied, and strode out purposefully towards the stage as the Rats began to create a wall of sound for him to leap off of.

The audience applauded politely as Curt approached the microphone, a few cheers rising from the mass of bodies to welcome him. _Not a very warm reception_ , Arthur thought, surprised. Curt had gone down better in Manchester, strangely enough. As the set went on Arthur became more and more anxious on Curt's behalf; the audience just wasn't resonating with his music as Arthur had assumed they would.

A handful of people in the audience were fully on board with what Curt was doing, but many seemed baffled or even hostile. _They came for velvet and they got sandpaper_ , Arthur thought to himself. He was very distressed for Curt, who was roaring his heart out in spite of (or because of?) the general lack of response. For one of the songs, Curt came down off the stage and began to walk through the crowd with his microphone, cable trailing after him. He shouted lyrics into people's faces, and at one point it nearly looked like there would be a fight between Curt and an audience member, but the bouncers got in between the two.

Near the end of the set, Arthur jumped a little at a hand gently placed on his shoulder and turned his head to see Brian next to him, partially costumed, his hair down. He looked otherworldly in his stage makeup and Arthur couldn't help staring a bit. "He's [incredible](http://www.theartsdesk.com/sites/default/files/images/stories/NEW_MUSIC/Jasper_Rees/IPDT1_lyrics%20SHORT.jpg), isn't he?" Brian said just loud enough to be heard over the music. It was more a statement than a question. 

"He is," Arthur agreed, nodding solemnly. He watched Brian from the corner of his eye, who was absorbing Curt's performance hungrily, longingly, his intent gaze never wavering. The thought struck Arthur as he returned his eyes to the stage that Brian really was Curt's biggest fan. The idea came to him unexpected, but seemed terribly obvious once settled in his mind. He'd always assumed for some reason that musicians were above the sort of admiration that their fans held for them, but Arthur could see now that that wasn't true. Not by any means. It wasn't just lust, or even love, that had prompted Brian to request Curt be his opening act; he was honestly in awe of Curt's creativity and passion.

Brian remained next to Arthur until Curt's final howled notes, and stepped forward as Curt stormed off the stage, angry energy sparking from his eyes like lightning bolts, sweat running in rivulets down his body. Curt blazed straight past Brian and started violently kicking a stack of cardboard boxes until the uppermost box toppled and burst open, scattering paper cups and plates across the floor. He started to stomp these as Brian approached him from behind and placed pacifying hands on his shoulders, pulling Curt back against himself, and restraining him with a tight hug. Arthur had pressed himself back against the wall, shocked at the intensity of Curt's anger, and he watched cautiously and with fascination as Brian soothed his savage beast, pressing kisses to the side of Curt's reddened face and whispering in his ear. Curt's heaving chest gradually slowed, glitter sparkling as it fell from his skin to the floor with every brush of Brian's hands.

The Rats at last located the end of the song and disposed of it with a calamitous crash that was met with weak and nervous applause. The four musicians abandoned their instruments and trooped dispiritedly off the stage, Ron flipping off the audience before slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders as they headed backstage. The Ashetons shoved past Arthur, who squeezed himself down as small as possible, now feeling decidedly superfluous with everything that was happening. The rest of the band pretended not to see Curt and Brian, with the exception of Steve, who paused a moment as though he wanted to say something, but then shook his head and disappeared after the others.

In the uneasy quiet after the set, Arthur could hear Brian and Curt speaking. Curt had turned around to face his lover and they were lost in each other's eyes.

"To be great is to be incomprehensible," Brian murmured, stroking Curt's hair. "It just means you're ahead of your time."

Curt sighed heavily, still working to calm himself, and brought a tense hand up to squeeze Brian's shoulder before wrapping his arm around the back of his neck and pulling their heads together so their foreheads were touching.

Brian carried on comforting Curt as the crew removed The Rats' equipment and began setting up for The Venus In Furs. They'd have an hour before Brian was due on stage, and the two men were very much lost in their own world. Arthur felt more and more like a third wheel, and finally slunk off to the backstage lounge to find a snack and wait for Brian's set.

He made sure to compliment The Rats, who were sitting dejectedly around a table, drinking and picking at some baskets of fish and chips. He got polite acknowledgement, but not much else, so he grabbed a beer and settled onto a sofa near a television tuned to the news, and half-watched as he sipped.

Curt turned up presently and praised his band's efforts, telling them they'd done far better than the audience deserved. 

“So did you, man,” Ron replied. “I still don't know why you bother with little shits like that.” He and Curt shared a quick hug before Curt went and grabbed two beers, flopping down next to Arthur on the sofa.

“I thought you were amazing.” Arthur volunteered quietly, glancing towards Curt.

“Thanks,” Curt said, cracking open a can and chugging down several gulps of beer. “I appreciate it.” He gave Arthur a half-smile.

Soon enough it was time for Brian and his band to go on, so Curt and Arthur moved to the wings once more to watch. Curt cheered up considerably watching his lover perform, and Arthur could see he was just as big a fan of Brian as Brian was of him. He and Brian would share quick kisses when Brian would enter the wings to change costume between songs, and Curt even rallied for Brian's encore, cheering and whooping, though he declined to play guitar for the last song. He certainly wasn't going to give this audience the 'guitar fellatio' performance that he and Brian had done throughout the tour for the audiences that were more appreciative of Curt's set. Arthur was a little disappointed, as he'd been excited to see them do it again, but understood completely why Curt didn't feel up to it.

To triumphantly thunderous applause and screaming Brian took his bows and swept off the stage, breaking into a beautiful ear-to-ear grin once the audience couldn't see him. Curt caught him in his arms and spun them around, pressing an adoring kiss to his mouth. He then tried to pull back, but Brian gripped him tighter and smooshed their lips together, their makeup smearing and melding into a messy palette of colours.

After a lengthy snogging session, during which the wardobe mistress came and calmly unhooked Brian's feather ruff from his neck without disrupting the two and walked off with it, Curt and Brian undressed, changing into slightly less impractical clothing, collected Arthur, and piled into another expensive black car, heading for the hotel. Curt suggested they go out for dinner, but Brian insisted on eating in, to which Curt didn't object. Arthur was a little surprised, as he would have assumed Brian would like to go out to celebrate his excellent gig.

He discovered Brian's reasons once they reached the suite and Brian pulled him aside while Curt used the loo. “Arthur, could you order room service for us?” He didn't give Arthur time to answer, but continued, “Curt prefers to eat at home, but I still want it to be something special, so don't shy away from the pricier items. We've got to give Curt a wonderful night. He really deserves it. You'll help me, won't you?”

“Uh, of course,” Arthur quickly agreed, wondering what all he was promising Brian. It couldn't be anything terrible, he reasoned. Probably very fun, in fact. “But what should I order?”

“Whatever you like. Get something for yourself, too.” He patted Arthur on the shoulder, glancing to the telephone in the lounge with the menu sitting next to it, and vanished into the master bedroom.

Arthur decided after a bit of agonising on duck _à l'orange_ for Curt and Brian to share ( _sharing a meal is romantic, right?? A whole duck is surely too big for one person..._ ) and a steak and kidney pie for himself, plus two bottles of random wine selected from the very confusing wine list, which seemed to be mostly in French, and a bottle of champagne, which was refreshingly easy to locate. 

When he ventured into the bedroom to report his progress to Brian he found Brian laughing and stripping off and an already naked Curt helping him, the radio on the bedside table providing a [jaunty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMFH29gywpI) backing track. Brian wobbled on one foot as he tried to extract his foot from his trousers, Curt holding him steady, and it was Brian who caught sight of Arthur first. “Well, don't stand there gaping like a landed fish!” he said, smiling, “Come and help me.” So _this_ is what Arthur was in for, tonight!!

Arthur dropped the menu he'd brought with him, forgetting all about the question he'd wanted to ask about wine, and hurried to Brian's side, standing frozen until Curt instructed him to unbutton Brian's shirt. Arthur's hands shook as he struggled with the mother-of-pearl buttons and slippery silk of the shirt, and his eyes kept sliding down to the shocking sight of Curt's enormous penis hanging limp between his legs. Arthur's hands were brushing Brian's bare skin now, and he thought he might die and go to heaven. Curt squatted, succeeding in completely removing Brian's trousers, leaving only his very skimpy pants, which were silky and exotic to Arthur, like a woman's knickers. They barely covered everything they were intended to, and showed off all the contours hidden beneath them. Arthur only realised he was staring when Brian slid the now fully unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders and placed his hands under Arthur's chin, lifting his face so he could look him in the eye.

“Like what you see?” Brian said, giving him a look that Arthur thought could probably melt glass. Arthur swallowed hard and nodded, struck dumb with lust.

“He loves it,” Curt said from the floor, “And so do I...” He gripped Brian's hips with his hands and pressed his nose and mouth against the fabric of Brian's pants, inhaling deeply through his nose before exhaling against Brian open-mouthed, warming him through the silk. He began nosing around the area, using his lips to lightly pull the fabric and caress Brian through it. Brian's hands slipped from Arthur's face to Curt's hair, and Brian's attention was fully on his lover now, so Arthur was out of the spotlight for the moment. 

He took the chance to fully enjoy the sight of an almost naked Brian Slade standing inches away from him. Brian was sinfully beautiful from head to toe, his lithe body smooth and lightly muscled, milky skin giving way to tiny pink nipples that sprouted like flowers from his chest. He had a dusting of wispy blonde hair in the centre of his chest, which travelled down creating a barely-visible trail to his navel. Broad shoulders dropped to a slim waist, which widened gradually to accommodate his generous thighs and muscular arse, his legs long and graceful. His album centrefold had not lied.

Curt carefully removed Brian's pants with his teeth, letting them drop to Brian's ankles, where they were soon dispensed with entirely. Curt stared hungrily at Brian's half-hard cock, but chose this moment to stand up again, saying to Brian, “Let's get that shower done, or it's not gonna happen.” He and Brian were staring each other down, getting lost in their own world once more, but Brian broke away to address Arthur. “Are you joining us?” Something about the way he said it told Arthur that this was what Brian was expecting from him tonight. Well, he wasn't about to protest!

To give his answer, he lifted his t-shirt over his head and discarded it, managing what he hoped was a flirty smirk at the two men. Curt's focus was abruptly glued right to him, and Brian smiled privately to himself and gave Curt a kiss on the cheek, slipping past him towards the bathroom, saying quietly, “I'll just start the shower.”

With Brian gone, Arthur could see that Curt was well on his way to full hardness, which was an impressive sight, if Arthur had anything to say about it. Curt was stockier and more heavily muscled than Brian, rather like Arthur himself. His beauty was a more masculine variety than Brian's androgynous slimness, the curves of his body forming mounds rather than hollows. And where Brian's exotic facial features allowed him to adopt drag as easily as he breathed, Curt's long, soft hair only provided a graceful counterpoint to his unmistakeably male visage. The two men went together like mint and chocolate, Arthur thought, two very different elements that somehow melded together divinely, rather than logically.

Arthur began to tremble with excitement again as he peeled off the snakeskin trousers, pulling his pants off with them in his impatience. He stood up straight again as he stepped out of the clothes, trying to slow his breathing, his heart tapping away against his ribs as Curt drank him in, a slow smile spreading over Curt's face.

“You're gorgeous,” Curt stated softly. He held out a hand to Arthur, who took it, and led him towards the bathroom where Brian was patiently waiting by the hiss of the shower, small clouds of steam beginning to obscure the tiled walls. With the door shut and the heat of the water warming things up, Arthur could suddenly smell why Brian and Curt wanted a shower – they had, of course, perspired heavily during their performances. It wasn't a bad scent, though; he actually found it deeply erotic and almost wished they wouldn't wash it off.

If Arthur had thought he was in paradise before, it was nothing compared to the sensation of being sandwiched between the hot, slippery bodies of two of his biggest idols. He tried to memorise every bit of it. Curt shampooed both his own and Arthur's hair – more to make Arthur smile than because he needed it – and Brian declined the offer, saying it would take out too much colour. 

Things began to heat up, figuratively speaking, when Brian volunteered to give the other two a whole-body scrub and Curt found his turn under Brian's hands inspiring. He knelt down, right there in the tub, and rather than giving Brian head, as Arthur had expected (hoped!), he turned him around and buried his face between his buttocks, the movement of his jaw revealing what his tongue was up to. Arthur was taken aback, initially; he hadn't known such things were even _done_. But Brian sounded immensely pleased by it, and judging by Curt's raging erection, he was very much getting off on it as well. 

Arthur was just considering whether to start working on his own orgasm when the sound of a telephone ringing through the bathroom door interrupted his train of thought.

“That will be our supper,” Brian told him a bit breathlessly. “Could you be a dear and bring it in? We'll be right out.”

  
  


Brian and Curt elected to eat on the bed, half propped-up like Roman noblemen, so Arthur joined them, sitting cross-legged on his bath towel as he ate and enjoying the entertainment provided by the two men as they fed each other and licked and sucked each other's hands clean. They had several glasses each of wine, and Brian started getting giggly as he became inebriated, which prompted Curt to try making him laugh. Arthur watched the lovestruck look that appeared on Curt's face every time he succeeded at his endeavour, and thought to himself that he would be the happiest man in the world someday if he could ever get someone to look at him like that.

Soon enough Curt and Brian were snogging happily, Brian lying on his back and Curt leaning over him, so Arthur got the tray and dishes out of the way, careful not to spill the wine. When he approached the bed again Brian pulled his mouth away from Curt momentarily to say to Arthur, “Would you get the Selfridges bag? It's in the closet.”

All curiosity, Arthur complied, and once he had it in his hand and had brought it back to the bed, Brian and Curt sat up, and Brian instructed him to dump the bag's contents on the bed. He did so and several pieces of royal blue satiny, lacy, strappy fabric slithered out onto the duvet.

“Oooh, baby, you bought it!” Curt said, really pleased, and quickly kissed Brian, who smiled back at him. Arthur was puzzled and picked up one of the items gingerly, trying to figure out what it was.

“It's a garter belt,” Brian offered helpfully, and Arthur immediately dropped it. He had sudden visions of department store mannequins and horribly embarrassing shopping outings with his mother when he was little.

Brian giggled at the look on his face. “It's not going to bite you!” he said, and Curt flicked his shoulder warningly.

“Why don't you put them on?” Curt suggested. “I'd love to see you in them.” 

“What, really?” Arthur said, dismayed. “Well... ok.” He didn't want to let Curt down, so he picked up the pile of garments and took them into the bathroom for a bit of privacy. Along with the garter belt were suspenders, frilly-backed knickers made of transparent lace, and thigh-length stockings, plus a lace _négligée_ in matching blue. He felt like an utter idiot once he'd put all of it on, and closed the dressing gown tightly, hesitating at the door, wondering if he could just say they didn't fit.

“Arrrthuuurrr,” Curt called out from the bed. Frowning, Arthur opened the door and came out, approaching the side of the bed. 

"Well, come on! Let's see!" Brian said with an amused smile, waving his hand like a prince impatient with the courtly entertainment.

"I look ridiculous!" Arthur protested, blushing deeply.

"I bet you look delicious. Show us," Curt prompted, a half-grin beginning to light his face. He rested his face on his hands, stretching out on the creamy expanse of the sheets.

Arthur sighed and stared at the floor, working up his nerve, then opened the _négligée_ and let it drift to the floor, forming a cloud at his feet. 

Curt sucked in a breath. "Damn!" he exclaimed as Brian applauded and laughed.

Arthur looked up and Brian caught his eyes. "It suits you," he confirmed, eyes twinkling, "though you might look better in red."

"This works for me," Curt growled lustily, stretching out an arm to hook his finger in the top of Arthur's knickers and drawing him closer. Arthur's heart jumped in his chest as Curt began gently massaging his cock and balls through the knickers with a skilled hand. He looked up at Arthur's face, grinning at Arthur's expression of open-mouthed arousal, then returned attention to Arthur's nether regions, leaning in close to blow warm air across the area. Arthur got rapidly hard at Curt's touches and when his erection was stretching the knickers to their limit, Curt pulled the lacy fabric down just enough to let Arthur's balls hang free. He took Arthur's cock in one hand, pulling back the foreskin to expose the head, and sucked the tip into his mouth. 

Arthur bit his lip hard and turned his face away from the unbelievable sight of his cock in Curt Wild's mouth, doing his best not to come instantly. Curt took him further into his mouth, starting gentle suction, and Arthur moaned. At the edge of his awareness he noticed Brian get up from the bed, and when he returned the distinctive perfume of cannabis came with him. Brian settled against the pillows at the head of the bed, toking and palming himself as he watched Curt with Arthur. Curt carried on, moving his head in a slow rhythm as he sucked, fingers busy with Arthur's balls. 

Arthur moaned again, loudly, and Brian started to warn Curt, “I think he's about to--” but Curt slipped his mouth off of Arthur at just the right (wrong!) moment, and Arthur groaned with frustration, collapsing onto the bed next to Curt and covering his face with his hands. “God!” he exclaimed through his hands.

“You should see what he does to _me_ ,” Brian remarked through a cloud of smoke. “He's a devil.”

“I believe it,” Arthur said, and put his hands down. Curt was watching him with a little smile on his face, and when Arthur looked him in the eye, he licked his lips and moved towards Arthur's lower half again... only to leave a kiss just below his navel. Arthur made a frustrated noise as Curt leaned off the edge of the bed to retrieve the wine bottle, and Brian nudged Arthur with his foot.

“Hmm?” Arthur looked over at him to see Brian holding out the spliff and lighter to him, an incredibly dreamy and relaxed look on his face. _I'm definitely going to hell now_ , Arthur thought, and reached out for the weed. He sat up and fiddled with the lighter, trying to ignite the end of the spliff, and Brian finally sat up and crawled over next to him, showing him what to do. Arthur took a long drag and managed to hold it in briefly before having a violent coughing fit. Brian patted his back and got the wine bottle from Curt to let Arthur have a sip to cool his throat.

“There you are. How are you feeling?” Brian asked once Arthur had stopped coughing.

Arthur paused for a moment, thinking, then looked at Brian and said, “Really odd.”

Brian smiled. “Good,” he said. He crawled back to his spot against the pillows and melted down into them, looking serene.

Arthur looked down at the spliff in his hand, then up at Curt, who was sitting with the wine bottle, sipping and making eyes at Brian, who responded by licking his lips in a vaguely obscene way and spreading his legs. “Do you want this?” Arthur asked Curt.

"Naw, babe. I gotta stay on the wagon. But thanks." Curt politely waved it off. Arthur shrugged and handed it to Brian instead, who lit up again. Arthur, being rather stoned, didn't hide his bemusement well, though, so Curt added, "Trust me, you don't want to see me on that shit. If I have one toke I'll end up in a crackhouse in King's Cross in about forty minutes."

"Take me with you!" Brian laughed, then added as an aside to Arthur. "He did more drugs than I'll ever do in my entire life in the five years before we met. His blood is about sixty percent heroin to this day." He snorted, finding his own joke terribly funny, and Curt crawled forward and bit him on the thigh. It was evidently quite a hard bite, as Brian's laughter turned to an exclamation of pain, and he handed the spliff quickly back to Arthur, his hands weaving into Curt's long hair.

Arthur was half-expecting a row, but instead found himself watching as Curt bit Brian's other thigh and Brian made a sound that was far more pleasure than pain, fingers tightening in Curt's hair, his face contorting, eyes squeezed shut.

Arthur found himself lacking the will to sit up, a wave of cannabis washing over his brain, so, putting the spliff aside, he lounged against the pillows, watching spellbound as Curt teased Brian to full hardness with his hands and mouth. Brian was very high, moaning and sighing Curt's name uninhibitedly, and trying to thrust into Curt's mouth, though Curt held his hips down. Curt swallowed him down and brought him right to the edge of an orgasm, so that he was whimpering helplessly and gripping the bedsheets, then let him back down again before it could overcome him.

Arthur had never been so hard in his entire life. He was afraid if he gave himself so much as a stroke that he'd come right then and there, so he turned onto his belly and rutted against the bedsheets, hugging a large pillow as he watched Curt tormenting Brian. The lingerie started chafing, so he peeled it off a piece at a time and tossed it to the floor, turning back to see Brian spreading his legs and Curt climbing on top of him. Brian fished a tube from behind his pillow and made his hands slick with its contents, then reached down and took Curt's thick cock in his hands, pulling and stroking while looking him in the eyes. Curt hummed his approval and leaned forward to kiss Brian, reaching back to hook his arm under Brian's knee, drawing it up. Brian guided Curt's prick into place and took a deep breath, nodding to Curt, who pushed into him in slow, shallow thrusts as he exhaled. 

Brian shut his eyes and groaned as Curt pushed fully into him, and Curt captured his mouth in a passionate kiss, devouring his lips, then covering Brian's mouth completely with his own and forcing a breath into his lungs. They kept their lips locked, sharing the same breath several more times before breaking apart, Curt looking a bit light-headed and Brian taking a few gasps of fresh air. Curt pulled out slowly and thrust back in, earning a gasp of pleasure from his lover, who wrapped his arms around Curt, pulling him close. Curt moved his arm from under Brian's knee and settled his weight fully onto Brian, starting to thrust his hips slowly, placing small kisses all over Brian's face and neck as he did.

Poor Arthur was on his back again, rubbing his hands all over himself, carefully avoiding his rock-hard prick, which was dripping on his stomach. Never in his wildest dreams had he guessed he would someday be lying in the same bed with his favourite pop stars while they made languid love to each other. He'd fantasised about this kind of thing more times than he could count, but the reality of it was so much better than his imagination could conjure.

Curt placed one more soft, adoring kiss on Brian's throat, then began to bite, latching onto the flesh and tendons at the side of his neck with his teeth, jaw working. Brian started to gasp and whimper, his face veering between pain and intense pleasure, and he dug his nails deep into Curt's back, which made Curt groan around a mouthful of Brian's neck. Curt bit down as hard as he dared and began thrusting more quickly into Brian, who slipped a hand between their bodies and soon came with a shout, shuddering against Curt until he was spent, soft noises of pleasure accompanying his come-down from his orgasm. Curt released his neck and began to kiss his open mouth again, gently nibbling and sucking his full lips and darting his tongue out to touch Brian's. Curt was now thrusting with intent, and Brian shifted a little beneath him, splaying his legs out further and angling his hips up.

“Mmm, baby,” Curt growled. Arthur strained to hear his next words, spoken low in Brian's ear. “Do you want my come inside you?”

“ _Ohhh, fuck yes_ ,” Brian said, and with that Curt once more sealed their mouths together and took air only from Brian for several intense seconds as he fucked him. He tore his mouth away from Brian's as he shot his load, gasping loudly for air and pressing his cock deep into Brian, his hips jerking with the intensity of his climax. With one final, tense spasm, Curt collapsed onto Brian, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. 

They shared one more soft kiss before Curt lifted himself off of Brian and lay down next to him, Brian grabbing his hand and weaving their fingers together. Curt lifted Brian's hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it before glancing towards Arthur. Arthur had had another toke from the spliff and was feeling a bit as if he was floating, his body tingling all over pleasurably and his vision mildly altered, giving everything an underwater luminescence.

“Come 'ere,” Curt beckoned him, “Show me what you can do.”

One good thing the weed had done for Arthur was stop his hands from shaking with nerves. He crept over to Curt and looked down at him, at his messy blonde hair still streaked with silver splaying over the pillow like a river delta. At his lips and eyes, still carrying an echo of his now-absent makeup. Arthur was practically breathless with excitement and found himself frozen, trying to decide what to do.

“Kiss me,” Curt suggested, seeing that Arthur needed prompting.

Arthur did so. He settled partly on top of Curt, their bodies melding into a comfortable arrangement, and pressed their lips together. Curt lay still, but began kissing him back slowly, showing him how to caress a lover's mouth with his own. Arthur lost himself in the sensation, his eyes falling shut as he focussed in on the delicate touches of Curt's lips to his own mouth, and the lingering taste of wine on Curt's tongue. The kiss gradually deepened until Curt was starting to put his neck into it, and they were sucking on each other's lips. 

Brian got up and manoeuvred around the two to retrieve the spliff. “Bite him,” he advised Arthur as he returned to his place, “he likes that.” 

Arthur did as was suggested, taking hold of Curt's lower lip with his teeth and biting down with increasing pressure, hoping he was doing it right. He was rewarded for his efforts with a throaty moan from Curt, which went straight to his half-asleep cock and perked it right back up again. He knew Curt could feel his hardness against his hip and that turned him on even more, so much so that he was soon back to his previous rock-hard state as he drew more moans from Curt with sharp bites to his lips.

When Arthur began rocking his hips against Curt, Curt wrapped his arms around Arthur and rolled the two of them over, so he was on top. Arthur could feel that Curt was starting to regain his hard-on, and that was ridiculously exciting to him. He tentatively put his hands on Curt's arse, earning an “Mmmm,” of approval from Curt, and a deep kiss that pinned his head to the pillow. He gripped harder and Curt grinded into him, getting stiffer by the minute.

Curt switched his attentions to Arthur's neck, giving him several soft kisses and bites, then moved his mouth up to Arthur's ear. “Have you ever done this before?” Curt whispered, taking Arthur's earlobe in his mouth and gently nibbling it. He rolled his hips against Arthur.

“No,” Arthur said quietly back, tensing slightly. He hoped Curt wouldn't find that a turn-off.

“It's all right. Just lie back and enjoy,” Curt said in his ear, and with a final kiss to the side of his neck, he moved himself down Arthur's body to settle between his legs, taking his cock in hand and making love to it with his mouth. Curt worked his magic on Arthur, sensing perfectly when Arthur was getting close and backing off, removing his mouth completely to let him cool down a moment, then licking and kissing before taking him fully in his mouth again.

Being as high as he was allowed Arthur to get very vocal without embarrassment and he moaned his pleasure as Curt teased and tormented him, his face and chest flushing red with arousal. Through the haze of exquisite sensation that coursed through him, Arthur became aware of a hand on his arm and warm breath against the side of his face. It was Brian.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Brian asked him softly, stroking his arm. His breath was perfumed with cannabis.

“Oh my god, yes,” Arthur breathed, and then Brian was kissing him. Brian's lips were big and soft and warm and everything Arthur had ever imagined they would be. He'd dreamed so many times whilst lying in his bed at home about being seduced by Brian Slade, and now here he was getting simultaneously sucked off by Curt Wild and snogged by Brian! It was only a matter of minutes before he was overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm he'd had in his life, and came, shaking, in Curt's mouth, his exclamation of pleasure muffled against Brian's lips. Brian kissed his neck as he panted with exertion and placed one more soft kiss on his lips once his breathing had largely returned to normal, rolling back to his own place in the bed, a sphinx-like smile gracing his elegantly stoned face.

Arthur felt Curt's mouth leave his gradually softening erection and opened his eyes as Curt crawled forward over him, leaning down to give him a lingering kiss. “How was that?” Curt asked him, a smug grin showing that he could guess Arthur's answer.

“Fucking fantastic,” Arthur said, a matching grin spreading across his face.

“Good!” Curt said, and gave him a quick smooch before crawling over to Brian and saying something in his ear to which Brian smiled and whispered his reply. They kissed and then Curt volunteered to get the lights, hauling himself out of bed to flip the switch. He turned the radio off and grabbed a blanket that had been tossed over a chair, returning to his companions and arranging the creamy fleece throw over the two of them, creeping back into the warm chrysalis to settle down on the opposite side of Arthur from Brian, the two elegant butterflies flanking their little caterpillar protectively. 

They lay in quiet for several minutes, Brian considering Arthur thoughtfully in the dim light from the window and finally asking him, “Where is home for you, Arthur?”

“Uh, uhm, I guess I don't really have one just at the moment,” he replied.

“Did you run away?” Brian's blue eyes regarded him curiously.

“Yeah... I suppose I did.”

“Why?” Curt interjected, looking just as curious as Brian.

“Well... I had a big row with me dad. I was, eh, touching myself and looking at pictures of men while I did it, and me dad caught me.” Arthur didn't want to mention just _which_ men he'd been looking at.

“And he threw you out?” Brian wondered, his brow creasing with concern.

“No. But he gave me a bloody nose, so I left.”

“Fucking _bastard_ ,” Curt spat, then added, “Sorry.” He didn't look very sorry. 

“You can call him whatever you want,” Arthur assured him, adding bitterly, “He told me I was committing a mortal sin, and that I would go to hell, and that he was _glad_ I was going to hell.”

A look of rage passed over Curt's face, but he bit back whatever he'd wanted to say, and considered for a moment. “The only difference between a saint and a sinner is that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future,” he said pointedly. “You're not perfect, but neither are they. Don't let their judgements get under your skin, Arthur.”

“I guess I'm just not that strong,” Arthur mumbled, grateful for the darkness as his face heated with shame. The two men he was with were some of the most fearless people on the planet, he had no doubt. And he felt woefully inadequate by comparison. His father's words had been haunting his thoughts ever since he left home, and they hurt him deeply.

Brian interjected. “Arthur, do you really think that weakness makes one give in to temptation? There are terrible temptations that require great strength and courage to yield to. One of which you've just been indulging in. You're not weak.”

Arthur was really touched by Brian's words. “Thank you,” he replied. _I'm not sure I believe it, but thanks._

Brian gave him a little smile and squeezed his shoulder. “Let's go to sleep. I have to see Mandy tomorrow and I need to be well-rested to withstand that tempest.” He rolled over and yawned, snuggling into his pillow.

“Good idea,” Curt agreed, yawning. It took some of his anger with it, softening his expression. “'Night,” he said, getting no reply from [Brian](https://lushsewingclub.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/brian-and-curt-in-bed.png), from whom a soft snore rose.

“Good night,” Arthur responded, closing his eyes. Dreams came swiftly, like clouds sailing in on a storm.

  
  


The next day Arthur awoke to Curt's sleepy, softly smiling face above him in the late morning light. “Hey there,” he said, “Time to get up.” Arthur sat up, rubbing his face, as Curt slid off the bed and made for the shower. 

Brian emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and drying his hair with a towel. He had two bite-shaped bruises on his inner thighs, and Curt reached down and squeezed one of them when he and Brian passed each other, sneaking a kiss onto the back of Brian's neck. Brian turned round, walking backwards, so he could face Curt. “Don't you start,” he said with a smile in his voice. “We'll never get to Heathrow and Mandy will castrate us.”

“Naw, just you,” Curt teased, leaning on the bathroom doorway. “She actually likes _me_.” Brian threw his towel at Curt, who easily dodged it, laughing.

Arthur retrieved his belongings from the other bedroom, including his freshly washed and folded laundry, and got dressed and made up for the day, easily outpacing his hosts, who once more took an absurd length of time deciding what to wear and perfecting their hair and eyeliner. Arthur offered to order breakfast for them, but Brian was feeling antsy due to the imminent arrival of his wife, and decided it was a good day to have a perfectly civilised, fully-clothed, sex-free breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

Before they headed downstairs to eat, Brian called Arthur over to him where he stood at the desk in the master bedroom. He was writing something on the hotel notepad. “Here,” said Brian, handing Arthur the note. “This lad is from an opening band we've worked with, and they know London. They might be able to help you out with getting settled here.” Arthur looked at the note. It read “Malcolm”and listed a telephone number. “Thanks a lot,” Arthur said, sincerely grateful, and carefully stashed the note in his suitcase.

Breakfast consisted of the three of them being aggressively ignored by the upper class patrons of the hotel, the occasional deeply offended glance being thrown at Brian's hair or Curt's voice and general existence. 

After breakfast Brian had a cab called for Arthur, handing him a small wad of bills to pay the fare, and insisting he keep it when Arthur tried to refuse the gift. A black Jaguar pulled up to the curb as Arthur waited for the cab, ready to take his two hosts to Heathrow, and the three said their goodbyes. Brian gave Arthur a kiss on the cheek as they shook hands, saying, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. Take care of yourself.” He favoured Arthur with one of his beautiful smiles and disappeared into the car.

Curt enveloped Arthur in a full-body hug that made the porters stare, Arthur gladly allowing himself to melt into the embrace. “Thanks so much for hanging around with us,” Curt said to him once they had broken apart.

“Thank you for inviting me!” Arthur replied, and Curt smiled at him fondly.

“Be careful out there, kid,” Curt said to him, tucking a bit of Arthur's hair behind his ear. He then turned and made for the car. 

A thought popped into Arthur's mind and he called after Curt. “Oh, Curt, I almost forgot! Jack Fairy said to tell you that he's moving to Berlin in a few weeks. Somewhere called 'Nukooln', or something.”

“Huh. Ok, good to know, I guess. See you around.” He winked at Arthur and stepped into the car, which soon vanished down the road.

It wasn't long before Arthur's cab arrived and seated inside it he was finally able to relax and start to process everything that had happened over the weekend. He was sure that this would be the final time he saw either Curt or Brian on an individual basis, and he was determined to memorise every bit of his time with them. These were memories he would cherish the rest of his life, he was certain. On a burst of inspiration he pulled out his notebook and began to write everything down in story format. Maybe he could submit it to the Brian Slade fan club for publication, if it turned out well.

He was excited to see Sandra and Christine – he had so much to tell them!

  
  


* * *

  
  


Time passed. Arthur lost track of the days, the weeks. Months and years. He lost track of friends, lovers. The Flaming Creatures broke up acrimoniously and left him without flatmates. It was harder to get by having to pay most of the rent himself, and he lost the blue hair and sparkly clothing and put himself through school to learn journalism. He wanted to work for Rolling Stone, but had to take a job at a newspaper instead to pay his bills.

One Friday morning he woke up to his clock radio blasting ["The Whole Shebang"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gd9Uih4BZaI) and was transported to a Friday nearly ten years past when Malcolm had woken him on his birthday with the very same song. It had been 4pm, then, when the Creatures had served him a birthday breakfast of magic mushroom omelette and then dragged him to the Death of Glitter tribute show they were playing in.

He lay in his bed as the memories of that beautiful night flooded over him, set to a song he hadn't listened to in years. When he opened his eyes he felt his heart sag in his chest as if it was made of stone. The contrast between his memories and his current surroundings was a reality he didn't want to face. How had his life faded to cool grey, when it had once been red-hot and iridescent? He didn't allow himself to think about how his birthday night had ended, what he had been doing as the sun rose, pink, over London. Who he had been with. No. He didn't ever want to think of it again.

He had been expecting to bury himself in his work that day, to take his mind off his past, to pull him away from the memories that haunted him, but when he arrived at the office he had his youth thrown right back in his face by his boss. All his coworkers thought he would be thrilled with the Brian Slade assignment – they well knew what a huge fan he was of glam rock – but he couldn't even manage a fake smile that morning. It just felt like a personal attack from the universe on his troubled mind.

Still, he was naturally curious and quite dedicated to uncovering hidden truths of all kinds, so he found the investigation that was required to complete the assignment rather engrossing despite himself. And when he finally put two and two together and realised what had really become of Brian Slade, he felt a burning desire to bring the facts to light, especially considering the vaguely homophobic public statements “Tommy Stone” had made in his most recent magazine interviews. The hypocritical bastard. Arthur had never forgotten what Brian had told him on the night they had lain in bed together, ten years ago; he had cherished Brian's words and used them to give himself the courage to be his true self, even in the face of widespread hostility. He had even worn a _Ballad of Maxwell Demon_ t-shirt to his first gay pride march years back, and this Tommy Stone nonsense felt like a massive betrayal, now that he knew the truth of it.

He was crushed when Lou told him that the story had been cancelled, censored into oblivion, and yet it wasn't terribly surprising a thing for an egomaniacal pop star to do. Arthur could almost have predicted it, actually, had he cared to. Still, he went to the Tommy Stone show not only out of professional obligation, but so he could see for himself what the man had become. It wasn't a pretty picture and Arthur was spitefully glad that he'd been able to sabotage Stone's question-and-answer session after the gig with his question about Tommy's connection to Brian Slade. The Stone camp's reaction to this was all the confirmation he needed that his theory was correct.

What had come as an honest surprise and a delight was stumbling upon Curt Wild after the gig, and with a guest pass for the Stone tour, no less. So, they were still involved with each other, somehow. Interesting. Curt seemed to regard Arthur merely as yet another obnoxious journalist sniffing for a juicy tale, but Arthur had expected nothing else. Why would someone like Curt remember one fan out of thousands that he had met over the years? 

After nearly choking on the pin, Arthur sat for a minute, marvelling at the serendipitous circumstances that had brought him to just the right bar to find Curt. The gift of the pin and the look that had been on Curt's face as he said goodbye made Arthur strongly reconsider whether Curt actually remembered him. As he listened to the jukebox playing on behind him, his horoscope from the morning paper blazed back into his mind: "You may have difficulty with colleagues at work today, but tonight is the night for love and chance meetings. Make the most of your seductive powers!"

Normally he paid horoscopes little mind, but right now he wanted any excuse to go after Curt. It seemed stupid to his rational mind, but something inside him was telling him to go in pursuit, so he rose hastily, slapped down a tip for the bartender, and hurried out into the night, glancing around somewhat frantically before reminding himself to be cool. Curt could be watching him from a parked car for all he knew. After a little walking around, he spotted Curt at a bus stop a short distance down the street, and he made his way over as casually as he could muster. Curt was leaning on the bus shelter, reading a route map and looked up when Arthur approached him.

"I'm sorry if this is a bit weird,” Arthur began, “but would you like to go out for dinner? Maybe you don't even remember me--"

"How could I ever forget you?" Curt interrupted. "Of course I'll go to dinner with you, Arthur. Though, if you don't mind, I was planning to order Chinese and eat lying down. You could join me?" His smile was as winning as ever, and Arthur's heart fluttered in his chest. 

"Chinese sounds great."

Curt grinned, and Arthur found it contagious. "Come on. We'll take the subway to my place."

  
  


Curt's apartment was of modest size, but very expressive. Arthur immediately noticed the overstuffed bookshelf in the sitting room, and hoped he would have the opportunity to investigate the titles at some point in the evening. An eerie oil painting hung over the mantel, featuring roughly rendered figures leaping and twisting in either agony or joy, their faces smeared and obscured. The shabby furniture was all in black leather, picked up here and there from various charity shops, no doubt. One corner of the sitting room was devoted entirely to a large and haphazardly stacked record collection and an impressive turntable and stereo setup that surely cost more than the rest of the items in the room, combined. A few framed albums hung on the wall next to three guitars, two electric and one acoustic, along with numerous pedals, headphones, and a practise amp scattered among the record stacks. Curt went to the large window in the sitting room as Arthur took off his jacket, and shut the Moroccan-style curtains, which were a deep maroon with scarlet embroidery in Moorish patterns. He switched on a brass floor lamp next to the sofa that had a shade roughly matching the curtains.

“Well, here it is,” Curt said, sweeping a hand to encompass his living space.

“I like it,” Arthur said with a smile. “You've got an eye.”

“Thanks,” Curt smiled back. He came and took Arthur's jacket from him and hung it on a hook by the front door with his own. The two men then settled at the table in the tiny kitchen to look over the expansive Chinese menu from Curt's favourite spot down the street. Deciding at last on Peking chicken and pork buns, they placed the order over the phone and Arthur asked for a tour of Curt's record collection, which Curt was only too happy to [show off](https://1drv.ms/u/s!ApMvutm75iNUda4hi61wvM6LyM4). Conversation between them flowed beautifully, and they settled onto the tufted cushions Curt had placed there for seating and chatted away happily about music and the industry as they browsed, until, in the middle of one stack, Arthur uncovered Curt's copies of Brian Slade's albums. He gazed for a moment at that young, beautiful face, now so changed, and decided not to suppress his curiosity. 

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened between you two in the end?" He held up _Lipstick Traces_.

Curt stared at the cover for a few seconds, then glanced to Arthur, seeming briefly to deliberate. At last he said, "It got to the point that the mask never came off. I never really knew who I was looking at. Sometimes it was still Brian, but more often it was Maxwell." Curt sighed. "I hated Maxwell, by the end." He lapsed into reminiscence, eyes faraway.

Arthur was curious, but remained patiently quiet, knowing well not to interrupt the flow of an interview subject. Or a lover.

Curt continued. "He wouldn't let me in. I mean, I acted like a fucking hormonal teenager - it's not like I wasn't to blame as well - but it was like nothing I could do or say would get through to him. It was like he was looking out at me through a wall of ice. 

"And it didn't help that he was doing tons of blow at the time. If it hadn't been for that we might have had a chance, I think. It made him so numb and paranoid, there was nothing I could do. It also helped his delusions of grandeur. Thinking he was actually Maxwell Demon."

"He actually believed it?" Arthur had, of course, read all the magazines and newspapers he could get his hands on to find out what was happening with his adoptive fairy godfathers, but hadn't been sure how much of what he was reading was hype and exaggeration, and how much reflected reality.

"Yeah, he did. Not all the time, but at the height of his coke binges he was off in La-La Land. He would go on rants about how he was going to save humanity or whatever, not making any sense, you know? Imagining he had infinite power."

"Wow," Arthur murmured. "I didn't know whether to believe any of that when I read about it."

Curt nodded. "Mandy really spilled after he ditched her. She knew all about him, of course. She didn't get to see him quite like I did, though. He wasn't lost inside himself in quite the same way when she was close with him. We talked a lot about him," he added at Arthur's curious look. "I don't know what I would have done without her after Brian and I broke up. She was an angel.”

“You went to see Jack Fairy in Berlin, too, I recall.”

“I did, yeah. I was so glad you'd told me where he was going. He and I talked a lot about Brian, too. Mandy flew out for a week while we were recording and you should have heard us all bitching about Brian then! Oh my god, we got so drunk and I was just lying on the floor crying and swearing at Maxwell Demon for stealing my boyfriend. It was fucking sad. But Jack and Mandy saved my ass. Kept me off the drugs. I owe them so much for that. I just wish Jack was still around.”

“Is he dead?” Arthur asked, shocked.

“You never heard?” Curt asked. Arthur shook his head. “Yeah, he's dead. AIDS got him a year ago.”

“Oh, god. That's awful.”

“Yeah,” Curt agreed, and sighed. “I feel like I dodged a bullet with that shit, you know? Everybody's fucking dropping dead. I'm afraid to call anybody from my old address book for fear some stranger will pick up and tell me they're dead or dying.”

“I guess I've been burying me head in the sand a bit,” Arthur admitted. It was true, he had been avoiding reading the news about the spread of 'the homosexual plague', and he'd been too afraid to go picking up in bars for several years now, since he'd broken up with his last long-term boyfriend. He'd been losing himself in his work, instead.

Curt nodded. “Understandable,” he said. “You're being careful, though, right?”

Arthur's ears pricked up at this question. _Is he thinking of sleeping with me?_ “Yeah, very. I haven't been with anyone in... quite a while, honestly. What about you?”

“I've been dating only women,” Curt replied. “Nothing serious,” he added quickly. After a brief silence he continued, “But yeah, thank you for listening. I guess I never really got to talk about it all. Everybody just always wants to make a buck off my story, but nobody actually cares about any of it, so I've never told anyone.”

“I'm glad you told me.” Arthur really meant it. It felt like an important chapter of his life had finally been properly finished.

“Well, I wanna hear all about _you_ , now. What have you been doing since we last saw each other?” Curt had a little hint of a smile on his face that told Arthur how well he remembered the last time they had seen each other. “Besides channelling Sherlock Holmes, I mean.”

Their dinner arrived as Arthur was telling Curt about his adventures in journalism, and the handful of freelance articles he'd gotten published in Melody Maker and the NME before he'd been offered the full-time gig in New York. They took their meals to the sofa and Arthur carried on by relating the story of his move across the pond, succeeding in making Curt laugh out loud with several anecdotes of cross-cultural misunderstandings. Curt shared some of his own from the time he'd spent living in London, and Arthur nearly snorted beer out of his nose at an incident involving the word “fanny”. Now that he had some life experience to judge by, Arthur was very aware of how special his and Curt's easy connection was, and he was incredibly glad he'd had the guts to chase after Curt and ask him out. Had it been any other night, he might have talked himself out of it, but challenging Tommy Stone had put a feistiness and self-belief into him that he didn't typically indulge in.

As the evening went on conversation inevitably turned back to the ghost who sat between them. "Did you see Brian tonight? Or Tommy, I mean."

"I haven't seen Brian in a very long time," Curt said with a bitterness tempered by resignation. "But yes, I did see Tommy." He sighed, thinking. "God, it's fucking weird being around him anymore. I'm thinking of just staying away next time he's in town. He always sends me a backstage pass, but he won't let anyone see that I'm there with him – it's all secret agent, hush-hush bullshit. Cars with blacked out windows and shit like that."

"Jesus, really?"

"Well, he can't have anyone figuring out who he is, can he?"

"Yeah. I guess not. That's got to be a bit insulting, though."

"It is," Curt nodded. "And that's why I was so crabby back at the bar. I'd just gotten the third degree from his security goons about keeping my mouth shut unless I wanted a massive lawsuit. They were freaking out because of all your sniffing around--"

"I'm really sorry about that--"

"No, no. You were just doing your job. Which you're good at, by the way. No one else has figured it out yet, that I know of."

“Why does he invite you to see him? What does he want from you?”

“I'm pretty damn sure he still wants to be having sex with me. I think he's still in love with me, but it's kinda hard to tell. He's become such a strange person. I don't know what he's thinking anymore, and I barely knew when we were dating, so...”

“Are you still in love with him?” Arthur asked, cautiously. He hoped he wasn't overstepping.

“Well... yes. I mean, it never really stops, does it?” Curt said, looking to Arthur for confirmation, his brow creased.

“No. I don't think it does,” Arthur ventured. “It just goes to sleep.” Arthur wondered as he looked at Curt if Curt felt anything for him. He could feel himself falling for Curt, fast and hard, just like he had at seventeen, though all those years ago he hadn't understood what he was feeling or why his heart seemed to burn in his chest when Curt looked in his eyes. Now he knew. 

Curt looked thoughtfully at Arthur. “He keeps trying to buy me back into his life. He's offered to bring me along on tour with him, to pay for recording sessions... He knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. He's not rich enough to buy back his past. No one is.” He paused and looked away from Arthur briefly, licking his lips. “But a man doesn't need to be rich to offer himself freely.” He caught Arthur's gaze again, his expression meaningful. 

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. This was his chance. He leaned towards Curt to kiss him and Curt met him in the middle and it was as if the past ten years dropped away. Their kissing was easy, free, natural, and very, very hot.

“Do you wanna spend the night?” Curt asked Arthur when they paused to take a breath. His eyes were alight with attraction and seemed to beg a 'yes' from Arthur.

“Please, yes,” said Arthur, his expression mirroring Curt's. 

Arthur sent a little prayer to Eros as Curt undressed him in the bedroom, asking Him for the precious gift that he was finally prepared to catch and keep: the firebird of love.

  
  


~*~


	2. Epilogue

The next morning Arthur found a note on Curt's vacant pillow.

> Stay as long as you like. ♥
> 
> Curt

Arthur hasn't left his bed [since.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4Sbfh46IUY)


End file.
